


digger, listener, runner, prince

by MostDismalFeldsparkle (Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle)



Series: Et in Arcadia ego [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Corrupt Police Officers, Domestic Violence, Estrangement, Getting Together, Homelessness, Human AU, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Most_Dismal_Feldsparkle/pseuds/MostDismalFeldsparkle
Summary: It should have meant nothing to notorious millionaire  playboy Anthony Crowley.It should have nothing more than a dull anecdote told over champagne and crab puffs.A small Samaritan act of decency toward a desperate man on a cool autumn night.Because life isn’t a fairytale, fate doesn’t exist and there is no such thing as love.So why can’t he convince his stupid heart?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Et in Arcadia ego [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708813
Comments: 517
Kudos: 471





	1. Chapter 1

Ari Fell has never been woken by a cow before.

“It’s been a bit of a day of firsts, my dear...” he murmured to the creature in question, because it seemed necessary to put a positive spin on waking up cold, muddy and - _oh dear_ \- so hungry in a ditch. And it was necessary to put a positive spin on the situation because...

“... I’m _not_ going back. Not after...” he sighed softly. “This time I’m done.”

The cow lowed softly, both her black and white patches glossy in the bright moonlight, her eyes shone like deep, still water.

“Do take care,” Ari called to her softly, straightening himself up as best he could, and swinging his leather satchel over his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, replacing the dried tear tracks on his face with muddy finger tracks. “You shouldn’t come over here, really, my dear. The ground’s all soft and uneven and you wouldn’t want to take a tumble. Not with precious cargo onboard.”

Of course, that unborn calf was doomed anyway, Ari thought grimly, if the very earnest vegan activist he’d encountered outside Sainsbury’s last Wednesday was to be believed. Ari’s eyes shifted a little guiltily from the cow, to his leather satchel and his muddy leather loafers.

He’d replaced most of his clothes at the op shop, shortly after he’d fled from the flat. Knowing that his usual style was far too memorable, he had stuffed his beige trousers, button down, and waist coat into the top of the satchel and dressed himself in the faded jeans and jersey he now wore. The jersey had given him some anxiety as he did not know the team or, if he was honest, even the sport it was associated with. What if that came up in conversation? It would make him _memorable_!

He’d almost checked the team on his phone before tossing it, along with his credit cards, into a rubbish bin in St James Park. But he didn’t. If Elijah _DID_ find the phone, and somehow got the search history... well... couldn’t risk it.

The shoes were his own, though. He could not quite stomach the idea of buying a pair of worn out tennis shoes at the op shop. And it seemed a bit unnecessary- who really looked at strangers feet?- a waste of his very limited funds.

Ari’s breath hitched when he thought of the money. He’d never stolen anything before. But what choice has he had?

“ _Not_ going back,” he murmured to the cow. “But I am sorry about the leather, my dear. If it’s any consolation I fully intend to only drink my tea black with lemon, from now on. Although, you might have to forgive me on cheese. You see, I’ve lost rather a lot already today, and I’m not sure I can give up cheese.”

The cow butted him gently, soliciting some gentle strokes to her face.

“It wasn’t even the book, so much...” he mused, carefully working out some grass seeds he’d encountered near one of her ears.

It had _started_ with the book though. _His_ book, his precious first edition. It wasn’t particularly old, not even quite fifty years not even terribly rare, but Elijah allowed him so little money, and he had saved for it for years.

“My mother read it to me as a child,” he told his softly chewing audience of one. “She doesn’t speak to me any more and... well I think you might like the story. It’s about rabbits.”

Finding the book destroyed has been... hard. It had made him angry, reckless enough to say ‘no’ when he shouldn’t have. And what followed was....

...well, he wasn’t going back.

The remains of the book had been the first thing he packed; Stowed safely at the bottom of his satchel, wrapped in a handkerchief, the torn pages and the shreds of the dust jacket all carefully collected and slotted safely into the spine-broken cover.

“I _do_ feel a little bad about the money... but, there’s something off about those envelopes of cash that Enoch and Gabriel bring... and I only took what I payed for the book. Well... actually an extra 25 pounds, but there were no small notes and I gave the 25 pounds to a Barnados lady after I got change from the op shop... and so I’m not _really_ a thief. Not really....”

He stroked the cows nose and she huffed gently.

Ari found it ridiculously hard to make himself leave her. For all that his _head_ knew it was foolish to spend the night freezing and starving in a field, something in his _heart_ longed to just stay...

Just stay with this huge creature so amiably tolerating his presence.

Just stoke her glossy coat as long as she’d allow him to, or til his fingers went numb and then maybe just lie down in the field and...

No. No he had to keep moving. He had to _try_.

“I mean there’s a road... right there. And roads go places... Tadfield if that sign I saw before is to be believed. Have you ever been to Tadfield, my dear?”

The cow snagged a mouthful of new grass and regarded him thoughtfully.

“Midnight snack,” Ari said of her grass, with a small smile. “Good for you, my dear. Good for you. Now, I must be off... mind how you go now.”

Then, hoping he remembered the correct direction, Ari carefully pulled himself and his satchel back over the fence and continued down the narrow country road.


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony Crowley tilted his head down so that he could actually _see_ his driver over the top of his sunglasses. It was midnight, and there was no one else about, but still, if Crowley could commit to anything, it was a fashion choice. 

“I’m pretty sure we are being overtaken by tortoises at this point, Newt,” he called. “Snails, sleepwalking arthritic badgers, any sloths so geographically embarrassed as to have found their way to Tadfield...”

“Sorry sir,” Newt replied cheerily. “Nearly home now.”

Crowley sighed. “And then, by my reckoning, we’ll have approximately thirty minutes for a shave and a quick kip before we’ll need to turn around and drive back to London for next years annual charity Snob-a-palozza, because I swear to god at the rate you drive...”

“It has been a long evening, hasn’t it, sir?” Newt replied unflappably.

Crowley had been pretty reluctant to hire the local doctor’s husband as his new driver. He generally went through drivers at quite a clip, and pissing off the formidable Dr Device would have had the whole village send him to Coventry.

Possibly literally. 

Possibly tied backward to horse.

Amazingly though, Newt was apparently pleasant, unoffendable, and honestly a pretty fair driver, if a maddeningly slow one. And while it was a _bit_ weird that the cars onboard computer had a conniption every time Newt so much as changed a radio station, it was hardly his fault if Rover had sold Crowley a lemon, was it??

(All this aside though, there was still no way Crowley was letting Newt so much as lay hands on his Bentley.)

“I’ll say, it’s been a long night,” Crowley muttered in reply. “Did you SEE that hat that Lord Hastur was wearing?” 

“Well... no sir... I was waiting with the car... I didn’t actually...”

“And Chancellor Ligur is no better. I swear that fool would wear a rat on his head if he thought it was the fashion. Unbearable twerps, the lot of them.”

“Still least you’ve got it over with sir?” Newt replied pleasantly. “Longest possible time until the next ball... and that’s something to smile about isn’t it?”

“Suppose so,” Crowley grumbled. “Food was ghastly too...”

“I’ve got half a sandwich left if you... _oh bless me!_ ” Newt gasped suddenly, after reaching for the aforementioned sandwich. “Sorry sir, it’s that blessed cow of Shadwell’s... it always stands close to the road and, the way it bends right before, well it about gives me a heart attack every time and..... **_agghhhhh_**!” 

Newt actually screamed and slammed on the breaks, leaving Crowley with a pounding heart, and half an egg salad sandwich down his burgundy silk shirt.

“Newt?! _What the fuck?_! Are you all right?” Crowley found himself shouting.

Newt’s voice, on the other hand, was soft and agonized. “Did I hit him?”

“Hit who? The bloody cow?” Crowley snapped.

“No... the _man_....”

“What man? I didn’t see anyone and anyway, no Newt, you did not hit a man. You know how you jump out of your skin when a large insect hits the windshield? So, if you _had_ hit a man, you would not be asking me if you hit a man, because you would already _know_ that you hit a man, because hitting a man is _loud_. You notice...”

“People get arrested for leaving the scenes of accidents all the time,” Newt protested softly.

“Because they are assholes who leave people to die to save their own sorry hides, or because they are high as kites, not because they didn’t notice...,” Crowley snapped back.

Still, something about Newt’s worry was oddly contagious and Crowley found himself reaching for the door handle. “... but if you are that worried Newt, how about we just have a look...”

Crowley trailed off in astonishment, because there was a man, one slumped on the narrow verge, clutching a bag to his chest. Too far away for the tail lights, we was illuminated by the full moon, and seemed to almost shine. _Surely they hadn’t...._

“Oh no, oh dear,” Newt said running past Crowley towards the man. 

Crowley followed moving quickly, but not quite allowing himself to jog. A headline appeared in his head

MILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY’S CAR STRIKES INNOCENT PEDESTRIAN RETURNING FROM BOOZE FUELED GALA...

He shook his head, ignoring his own histrionics in favour of Newts.

“Sir! Sir! Are you alright? Did we hit you?” his driver was calling.

The stranger looked up at them and Crowley’s breath caught at the sight of slightly dazed silvery eyes. They must be blue in the daylight... he thought.

Then his gaze spread to the dark bruise which had blossomed under one of those eyes, and similar mottled dark patches on his neck.

Crowley swallowed.

“Oh no, my dear boy,” the stranger said pulling himself to his feet and reaching gently for Newt’s shoulder. “You only startled me, and the fault for that is all mine. Out here alone at night. Oh, I’ve given you such a shock, I’m so sorry.”

Crowley exhaled shakily, all the imagined headlines dissolving. He forced himself to breathe slowly. The night smelled like wet grass.

“But...but... you’re hurt!” Newt insisted, sounding on the edge of tears.

“Not your doing,” the stranger insisted firmly, then apologized to Newt once more, those silvery eyes so large and sad.

“Oh” Newt replied softly, and the three of them stood together slowly gathering their collective thoughts. It was probably no longer than a minute, but to Crowley, and his still jackhammering heart, it felt like an age longer.

Then Newt spoke. “You’ve left someone. Someone who hurt you.”

“Yes,” the stranger replied after a hesitant pause. “I have left someone and I’ve pretty thoroughly muddled it up too. It’s all so much harder than it seems on paper. I’m _so_ sorry to have frightened you gentleman. And, I hate to ask but...could you please say you haven’t seen me, should anyone ask?”

“I... well...of course... only..,” Newt stuttered.

“Only,” the stranger continued reluctantly, “only, it may be the _police_ who ask, but only becauseElijah... that’s my... that’s who I’m leaving... you see he _IS_ a detective. So even if it is the police, it’s not like I’m a criminal or anything. I give you my word I only took what I was owed, well, except for the 25 pounds, and I gave that to Barnardo’s, which I guess is still _technically_ stealing, but... _please_?”

This time Newt was silent. At last Crowley’s brain supplied something to say, but, unfortunately, it was only a muttered profanity that the stranger did not appear to know how to receive.

More silence.

Crowley wondered if he should leave. Take Newt and just... leave. But somehow he couldn’t.

Just... _couldn’t_.

“Hey...” Newt said at last. “You know, it’s pretty cold out tonight, and my wife and I run a bed and breakfast in Tadfield...”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up.

“... and I think you should come with us and stay the night. Don’t... don’t worry about money. We can sort that all out later. I... I just can’t _LEAVE_ you here.”

“Oh...” the stranger said softly, and after a moment he broke into a bright hopeful smile.

Crowley’s breath caught again. Even on that swollen, battered face that smile was....

“Oh... that’s so kind of you,” the stranger was talking faster now, and just a little louder. “My dear boy, thank you. I was rather starting to despair. I do _assure_ you that I can pay and WILL do so. Extra, indeed, for the expense and inconvenience.”

“What about my inconvenience?” Crowley muttered. “He’s my driver, and that’s my car...”

He’d meant it as a joke, he supposed, but he still felt something jolt inside him when the stranger turned to him, eyes bright. “And so kind of you as well. I can certainly pay for... petrol?”

“Petrol? Nonsense,” Newt replied with a chortle. “One, he’s loaded; two, we are maybe ten minutes from Tadfield; and three, we are going there anyway. Come on. Let’s get you warmed up. I’m Newton, by the way. Newt.”

“I’m Ari Fell,”the stranger replied softly. “It’s short for Aziraphale, so...”

“Good lord! ‘Aziraphale’ Did you say?” Crowley broke in. “Ever thought of going by your middle name?”

Newt creased his forehead at him, but the stranger- _Ari_ \- just smiled. “Well my middle name is Zophiel so...”

“So no help there then,” Crowley interrupted a little too quickly, and then, suddenly, found himself without anything to say. “Maybe mind your shoes before you get in the car, yeah? They’re a bit muddy...”

Newt’s forehead folded further, dangerously close to a scowl. Crowley did a theatrical double take. How the mighty had fallen if he - Anthony _bloody_ Crowley- was getting scowled at by the likes of Newton Pulsifer. Or _nearly_ scowled at, anyway.

Ari, however seemed entirely unbothered, taking his shoes off immediately, still a few yards shy of the car and carefully wrapping them in an unfashionably large handkerchief he’d retrieved from his satchel. 

Newt helped Ari into the passenger seat and the opened the back door for Crowley. 

“Just gotta make a quick phone call, boss,” he whispered to Crowley.

“Ah yes,” Crowley smirked. “Better call ahead, and let Anathema know that she’s now running a Crisis Shelter, masquerading as a Bed and Breakfast, in her cottage!” 

Newt nodded agreeably, and Crowley rolled his eyes and got in the car.

The car was pleasantly warm after the chill of the night air, and Crowley could hear Ari, in the front seat, making a run of appreciative little noises, like someone’s ancient maiden aunt.

Crowley slid over a little and pushed his sunglasses down his nose to take in the full effect. 

Golden curls sticking out of a crotchet beanie with a Liver bird decal, a Manchester United jersey, a pair of muddy washed out jeans, a pair of... yep... _argyle socks_ and muddy brown loafers wrapped in a handkerchief resting delicately on his lap.

Aziraphale Zophiel Fell.

_Blimey._


	3. Chapter 3

Anathema truly loved her hopeless, dorky husband. She had loved him a little bit from the moment he’d upturned his hopeless, dorky three-wheeled car right outside her front door. 

She even loved the way he told that hopeless, dorky story, every time.

Nosy Parker: So... tell me how you two met

Newt: Well you see, there was a little row of ducks crossing the road and I was going too fast to stop. So I swerved, and rolled the car, and I skidded to a halt right in front of Ana’s front door.

Nosy Parker: My! Wasn’t that lucky?!

Newt: Yes. I was definitely the luckiest duck _THAT_ day!

Nosy Parker: Because Ana’s a Doctor?

Newt: Well yes, I suppose, _that too_.

Every. Single. Time. It was like the sunrise, or the North Star. _Her North Star._

And, Newt wouldn’t be the man she loved, if he didn’t have the propensity to bring in strays. Dogs, cats, limping rabbits, grounded nestlings, lightly mauled foxes, and the occasional orphaned lamb had all passed through the cottage. Even the odd brown-spotted plant banished from Crowley’s conservatory for being “unresponsive to constructive criticism.”

He’d never managed to bring home a stray human before, though, although the whole thing had a sense of inevitability about it.And honestly, despite loudly predicting on the phone that they were about to be murdered in their beds, her hesitation did not survive beyond thirty seconds of meeting Ari Fell.

Newt had fetched the poor man a thick winter coat and then made himself scarce in the kitchen, while Ana slipped into doctor mode, and carried out a hushed, gentle consultation by the softly crackling fireplace. 

At first, Ari seemed primarily distressed by the small amount of mud he was “tracking into her lovely home”, and repeatedly begged for a chance to shower and freshen up first. Unfortunately, Anathema had a job to do, and she knew, from grim experience, that they needed to have at least one conversation first. 

She tried as hard as hard as she could, and pushed as much as she thought the poor soul could bear. In the end, however, there was no convincing Ari to go anywhere near a hospital or a police station, and so Anathema had to settle for logging in remotely to her work computer and logging an excruciatingly detailed set of notes.

Shortly after, Newt reappeared with a warm meal for Ari, which Anathema knew without checking would be chicken soup, because Newt was - _always and forever_ \- Newt. 

Ari gratefully took the blue earthenware bowl, and ate the soup with more animation than she had seen from him since arrival. She was briefly cheered, but soon after finishing, her guest carefully placed down his spoon and lapsed into the same demeanor as before, a vacillation between frantic-eyed gratitude and exhausted dullness.

Finally, after Newt had gathered every spare dressing gown, cardigan, pillow, toothbrush, blanket and quilt in the house and deposited them in the spare bedroom, Anathema wished Ari good night. She gently implored him to make use of the kitchen, bathroom, pantry, and phone however he wished. “Just don’t call your ex,” she cautioned with a small sigh, and then added for good measure, “it’s okay, we have you now.”

Ari summoned one last gentle smile in response, although they had stopped reaching his eyes a good hour ago. “Thank you, my dear.” 

Anathema exhaled heavily, once Ari’s door closed and indulged herself, just a little, by resting her forehead on the wall for a moment. She then crawled into bed without so much as brushing her teeth.  


_Come at me, tartar_ , she thought dizzily. _Just... try me_.

Newt was already in the bed. Facing the wall. She snuggled up to him, nuzzling the back of his neck. “Are you okay?” she whispered. “This must be confronting for you...must be stirring up memories... must be.... well a lot.”

“Well... it’s not a little”, Newt replied reluctantly. “But it’s okay. I need to... no _I want to_ help. It’s good. I think this will be good.”

Ana sighed softly. “Okay. I hear you. Just keep talking to me, okay? Tell me if...”

“I will. It’s fine. I’m fine. We should get some sleep.”

“Okay, Newt. I love you, and your stupid face.”

“Love you too, Ana. And your lovely face.”

——————-

Gabriel Bannerman loved everything about the gym. He loved the adrenaline high. He loved knocking whoever was holding the punching bag for him clear off their feet. He loved undressing the fit bodies with his eyes. He loved shaming the unfit bodies with a curl of his lip.He loved the way people looked at his body; leering with envy, with lust, even those that sneered, because he knew he’d got under their skin. The gym was fucking _awesome_.

So, he was in a pretty good mood when he checked his phone in the locker room and found an irate message from Elijah Sanderson accusing him of stiffing him on his cut.

As it happened, the pompous little blow hard was right, Gabe _WAS_ stiffing him, but Elijah didn’t know that. That envelope should have contained exactly the amount ‘ol Elijah was expecting.

Gabe rolled his eyes and jogged home before calling him back, despite ol’ Elijah’s insistence that he call him back IMMEDIATELY. He smirked as he ran imagining the ugly little troll getting angrier and angrier with every passing second.

_Fuck you, ol’ Sanderson, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal_ , he chanted lazily in his head in time with his stride.  


Once he’d got home and poured himself a generous liquid dinner, it was time to call though. If he let things go too long then Elijah would call Enoch and that really would put a dent in his evening.

He tossed a mental coin between shocked disappointment and righteous indignation as he dialed. He was expecting Elijah to pick up angrily after only a few rings, and was surprised when the call rang out almost to voicemail. 

At the very last second Elijah picked up and cutGabe off with a hurried apology.

“Hey Gabe. Sorry about that message before. I think I jumped to conclusions...”

Gabe kicked off his shoes and leaned back in his cream leather wing-back. Elijah sounded fucking _furious_ and Gabe was sure that apology burned worse than a syphilitic piss.

“You certainly did, Sandy, ol’ chum,” Gabe answered, affecting a wounded tone. “What happened? You run out of fingers and toes to count on?”

“Nah, i reckon it was my boyfriend. Reckon he’s legged it.”

Gabe stifled a guffaw, and cast his mind back, struggling to remember literally anything about Elijah Sanderson’s boyfriend. The only picture his mind supplied was of a tweed-clad house-mouse.

“Ohh, Sannndy,” he drawled, tsking down the phone while taking a long swig of his drink. “He stole from you? Talk about _disrespect_! Your boy’s probably stuffing your hard earned cash into some stripper’s knickers, as we speak. A self respecting man like you isn’t going to tolerate that shit, are you?”

To his delight, Ol’ Elijah huffed and fumed on the other end of the line like Gabriel’s own personal cue-ball puppet.

“Damn right I won’t,” he muttered.

Gabe sighed. “Well, your message wounded my deeply, Sandy... it really did. Still, seeing as your personal life is in such a shambles, I won’t pile on. _I forgive you_.”

“Yeah... thanks,” Sandy fumed.

“You’re welcome buddy!” Gabe replied expansively. “Just get your house in order, for your own sake.” 

He hung up for with a chuckle before good ole Sandy-pants could think of a reply.

Then he dialed Enoch.

“What is it?” 

“Think we might have a problem...” Gabe answered sipping his drink. “Elijah’s lost track of his boyfriend. Reckons he’s run off.”

Enoch grunted with distaste. “Well I did tell him... if you are going to hit them, you have to hit then hard enough that they break. None of these trifling half measures. How much do you think the boyfriend knows?”

Gabe shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve no idea. Man made absolutely no impression on me whatsoever. Not sure I’d recognize him in the street.”

“Oh really, Gabriel.” Enoch sighed. “You must have met the man dozens of times.”

“Nope, got nothing. Except Tweed maybe? Bow tie?”

“That’s the one,” Enoch replied. “Truly tiresome fellow. Couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. But not stupid... observant too.”

Gabe leaned forward a little. “So, potentially a problem...”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” Enoch replied distaste still dripping from his voice. “Depends is he’s nursing a grudge, I guess. Any idea how far Elijah went this time?”

“He didn’t say,” Gabe replied starting to get an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

“Well, your best guess then,” Enoch pressed. “I’ve seen bruises more than once. You ever seen anything worse?”

Gabe hesitated, unsure how much detail to share. “This one time, Elijah and I were watching a match, we mixed some meth with some angel-dust... things got a little out of hand. Had to bribe a few nurses, and lean a little on a surgeon with his hand in the oxy jar to make it go away.”

“Oh fabulous,” Enoch muttered.“I’ll put out some feelers to the _Department of Professional Standards_ and make sure he’s not on their radar. That will at least give us a head start. Assuming we are in the clear there, I am sure, between the two of you, you can handle this fellow and and his grievances a little more permanently?”

Gabe’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, alright. You got it.”

“Good. And Gabriel. Be _TIDY_. No one likes a mess.”


	4. Chapter 4

A little later than any of the three were accustomed to rising, the three current inhabitants of Jasmine cottage gathered cautiously over a hastily assembled breakfast. 

Ari did look much better rested, and was dressed far more coherently, in rumbled trousers, a button down shirt and waistcoat, but this bruising had rather darkened over night, as deep injuries were liable to do, and so his appearance compared to the previous night was something of a wash. Still, he greeted them pleasantly, and if he noticed Newt’s intake of breath at the state of his face and neck, he gave no indication.

“A very good morning to both of you,” he said instead, very sincerely.“My gratitude for your efforts yesterday evening has only grown in stature.”

Early this morning would have been a more accurate description than yesterday evening, but neither Newt nor Anathema would dream of bringing that up.

“Did you sleep well? “ Anathema asked instead, trying to figure out how best to divide five pieces of toast, four eggs, a cup and a half of porridge, 17 button mushrooms and two fried tomatoes amongst three people.

“Very well, considering, my dear,” he replied. “And thank you, so much, for asking. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so exhausted. And even if that hadn’t been a case, I’ve found your home to be everything comfortable and charming.”

“Oh! Well, thank _you_.” Anathema replied relaxing enough to allow herself to be charmed. “I have found you to be a delightful houseguest!”

Ari’s smile dropped ever so slightly. “Why, thank you. And on that topic, and I hope you’ll forgive the vulgarity of discussing money over the breakfast table, I was hoping to inquire about the nightly rate of your charming bed and breakfast here.”

Anathema blinked. “The nightly rate of our bed and breakfast. _Ahhh_....” she trailed off, having completely forgotten this detail of Newt’s sleight of hand until just now. She wondered how Ari could have possibly failed to notice their complete lack of normal bed and breakfast infrastructure, such as matching towels and sufficient butter knifes.

Newt, perched on a chair with two uneven legs, and tall enough to drive the top of his thighs into the bottom of the oak table, avoided her eyes.

“I do apologise,” Ari continued softly. “Only, I only have the money I have, and my plan went a little awry as I’m sure you’ve realised... and I really must formulate some sort of plan...”

“Do you know, I’ve never really thought of it as a bed and breakfast,” Anathema answered brightly, hoping inspiration would strike, although she might settle for an actual lightening strike in a pinch. “Really more of a.... _whatsit_? You know... the app? What’s it called.... ahh... I wanna say _iSquat_?”

“I think it’s called _AirBNB_ ” Newt replied, too loudly.

“Ahh, _is it_? Well I guess that’s got B’n’B right there in the title, so it’s much of a muchness, isn’t it? More toast, anyone?”

Ari had apparently decided that they’d found him rude and were attempting to change the subject and was growing more mortified and distressed by the second.

“Please don’t worry about...” Anathema began at exactly the same moment Newt declared “You know, we couldn’t possibly...”

They both stopped, and then both frantically began again, at the exact moment there was a loud knock on the kitchen door.

“Heavens, who could that be?” Newt exclaimed, plastering on a fake smile, too large even for _his_ face.

“I’ll get it,” Anathema declared cheerfully, jumping her feet, half expecting to open the door to chimney sweep, or perhaps a horse-shoe wielding leprechaun.

It was neither of those things though. It was Crowley. 

Crowley holding a basket.

Of Croissants.

Anathemas smile froze, “Mr Crowley! What the....What are you doing here?” 

Crowley grinnedbehind his sunglasses. “Morning, Anathema! Isn’t it obvious? I’m helping!”

Behind her, Newt choked on orange juice.

Crowley used the brief distraction of Newt’s spluttering to push past Anathema and saunter over to the table, the hand not bearing the croissant basket, shoved into the pocket of his charcoal aviator jacket and his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. He dropped the basket of croissants heavily on the table and sat himself down in Anathema’s chair. He managed to _not_ turn it around before sitting down, but, given the acutely vintage swagger of the rest of his entrance, it was probably a close-run thing.

“Do sit down,” Ana snarled, closing the door, and dragging over the cottage’s last remaining chair.

“Don’t mind if I do, “ Crowley replied shamelessly, shooting her a brilliant smile. Then, leaning back casually, he turned the full wattage of that smile onto Ari. “Good morning, there, Aziraphale. Feeling better?”

Ari seemed lost for a moment, paralyzed by Crowley’s attention. “Erm.... yes...I am rather, thank you. In fact, I...”

“Yes, you must do!” Crowley interrupted sunnily. “Lovely little cottage, this... cozy. Way better than sleeping in a field, anyway, eh? You know, sometimes when I’m rattling around my manor, I wonder if I’d be better off giving it up... convert it into a corporate retreat or wedding venue or something... and get myself a place more like this. I mean, probably not _this_ small... but this _sort_ of thing. Have to have a modern kitchen, though. My private chef would have a fit if I asked him to work in a kitchen like this. He made those croissants, by the way, if your worried I’ve brought some stodgy rocks from a pokey village bakery- have one! Go on!- Anyway, I’d have to let Raven- he’s my chef-redo the kitchen, but otherwise, I think it would be really lovely, to just... simplify, you know?”

Ari stared for a moment, appearing to stumble for an appropriate reply and settled on “This is such a lovely cottage.” As an afterthought he took a croissant and bit into it gamely. “Oh this is lovely, I’m sure it’s second only to the croissants one gets in Paris.”

“Well, Raven is _from_ Paris! So I’ll let him know it’s a good thing he moved to a smaller pond,” Crowley replied with a devilish grin.

“Oh dear,” Ari replied miserably. “I didn’t mean...” 

Newt reached over and patted his hand reassuringly.“Don’t worry. He’s joking.”

Ari nodded heroically, forced on a smile, and took a few more bites of croissant.

“So,” Crowley chattered into the silence. “First morning of the first day of your new life, eh? That’s exciting! And good for you, by the way! Must take balls, just walking out of your life and off into the countryside. Quite the statement. Love it. Very _Jane Eyre_. So what’s next for you?”

Ari sighed. “I don’t... I don’t know, really.”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Well don’t look so downhearted! Good- looking man like you is bound to land on his feet.”

Ari blinked back uncomprehendingly. “Except I don’t think I will.... I don’t really have anybody. I guess I’ll have to hope that my mother will take my call. We haven’t spoken in years but there’s nobody else I can... there’s nowhere I can go. See I realised that all of ‘ _our_ ’ friends are actually _Elijah’s_ friends, and the rest of my family never liked me and oh dear, I think... actually, excuse me.” He bolted out of the kitchen, very clearly about to cry.

Crowley watched him leave, looking vaguely appalled, but mostly just confused.

Ana lost her temper. “ **Really**?!” 

Crowley blinked. “ _What_?! What did I do? All I did was bring croissants! Is that somehow rude? Are we triggered by pastries these days?”

Ana glared. “Mr Crowley, you can make jokes like that _OR_ you may be in my house right now, but you can _NOT_ do both.”

“I’m just going to check he’s okay...” Newt said and quickly excused himself. The thickness in her husband’s voice made Ana _very badly_ want to hit Crowley over the head with a broom and then use it to hustle him out the door.

Instead, she took a breath. “You really should be better than this. I _KNOW_ you can be better than this. What are you _DOING_ here, Anthony?”

“I told you,” Crowley replied. “I’m helping. Or trying to...” 

And, Ana realised, his voice had taken on an unfamiliar note of uncertainty, his nonchalance had melted slightly.

_Oh hell_ , Ana thought. _He really did think he was helping._

“I just thought, you know. You might not have enough food for a houseguest and I had a chef just sitting there... and... look... look here.”

Ana’s brow creased as Crowley pulled out his phone, loaded a page and handed it too her. She blinked, for a moment, at the eye-sore graphics and cartoony banner, before she finally managed to wrap her head around the headline.

RubblePop presents: Five Top Tips for supporting someone in Crisis!

_Oh for the love of..._

Ana stared at Crowley. She was feeling some very strong emotion in her chest, but she found herself completely unable to name it or even really get a sense of the edge of it. She fought to keep the scowl on her face.

“Yeah, see,” Crowley continued, each syllable more defensive than the last. “And, I was _doing_ those things! Offer practical support? I brought croissants! Encourage them to talk? I asked questions! Be supportive of their choices? I pretended that running off into the countryside without so much as a warm coat wasn’t a stupid thing to do! And.... and I’ve forgotten the other two, because started yelling at me...”

Ana defrosted a little.“Oh, Anthony... okay, look. I’m sorry. You.... _okay_. It’s just that with the swagger, and the outfit, and the constant hints of your fabulous wealth, and the compliments...”

“.... oh yeah! _Compliments_! That’s number four! I did that too!”

“... it just came across like you were flirting a little? Maybe? And I wasn’t sure that was... helpful.” Ana finished, embarrassed to find herself feeling a bit, well, _mean._

Crowley’s kicked puppy expression didn’t help. “I wasn’t flirting,” he pouted. “Or, _if_ I was, it’s just cause I flirt with everyone. You of all people know that. It’s just how I am. ‘How I am’ is _always_ wrong, somehow.”

Ana was not _entirely sure_ she was not being manipulated, but she was _pretty sure_ she was lost, anyway. And then, a sudden realization, that Crowley’s driver was Newt- and he had been sitting at her breakfast table- tipped her over the edge.

“Anthony,” she prompted gently. “How did you get here? Did you walk the whole way?”

Crowley was suddenly very interested in the middle distance. “Yeah. I mean almost the whole way. I did _TRY_ to drive. I drove all the way to my front gate... but. Yeah. Walked the rest.”

Ana took a careful step closer and lowered her voice a little. “I know we’ve had this conversation, many times. And it’s not lost on me that I financially benefit from your need of a driver. But, maybe it’s time to try talking to someone again... see if you can...”

She lost him, then, as she rather thought she would.  


All the studied nonchalance shot straight back into his posture, and any trace of vulnerability fled. “I keep telling you, Ana, drivers are cheaper than psychologists. It’s basic economics. Your sort of thinking is why the poor get poorer.”

“ _ARE_ drivers cheaper than a psychologist, though?” she prodded without much hope. 

Crowley shrugged. “Well... like... on an hourly basis, yeah. And any psychologist worth their salt is gonna want me full time, aren’t they?”

Ana smiled. “Well I don’t know about that, but...”

“And yeah, _DEFINITELY_ not flirting me with our wayward angel... although, he’s certainly very cute, even if you did dress him in your dead grandfather’s clothes...”

“Those are _his_ clothes,” Ana replied indignantly. “Apparently he was sort of in disguise yesterday?”

“Oh well,that’s... _adorable_!” Crowley replied looking at his feet and smiling. “And it explains the mystery of Manchester FC Jersey and the Liverpool FC Beanie. That one could keep you up nights. But, I assure you, Dear Doctor Device, I will be a perfect gentleman. Even though marrying him would make an excellent end to my future TED talk, on my foundation for domestically battered queerfolk.”

Ana rolled her eyes. “Anthony, you can’t just start up a charitable foundation every time you are socially awkward over breakfast.”

“Maybe _YOU_ can’t, pauper.”

“You aren’t serious, though.”

Crowley shrugged. “I might be. Let’s see how the next conversation goes.”

“What conversation?”

“The one where we tell Ari about the bursary I’ve discovered for Homeless Persons from under-serviced social populations. It will pay for him to stay at your totally-real, not at all imaginary, bed-and-breakfast for a few weeks, while he gets his head around things.”

“Anthony...”

“Relax, will you? It will keep him out of the gutter, make Newt happy, and you and I both get a tax write-off! It’s apples all round! Or is _that_ offensive? I’m given to understand that apples repel you medical folk, like garlic repels vampires?” 

Ana pouted. _Dammit_. She couldn’t help herself. _Damn charming asshole_. “I like apples.”

Crowley smiled broadly. “Oh, me too.”

——————— -

“Morning, Sandy!” Gabe called cheerfully.

Elijah looked even more garbage than usual, so Gabe subtly adjusted his posture to make it appear as if he had been working for quite some time already, even though he’d only walked in ten minutes ago himself.

“Don’t see what’s so good about it,” Elijah muttered into his burnt smelling coffee.

“Well now, Elijah, I didn’t _SAY_ good, did I? I said it was morning!” Gabe trumpeted. “And it is! Day one of our little man hunt. “

Sandy’s eyes widened. “ _Manhunt_?”

“Yup!” Gabe replied cheerfully loud. “Enoch wants us to follow up on your _missing person_. Make sure he’s really gone for good, if you catch my drift.”

Although he affected indifference, in truth, Gabe watched Elijah’s expression VERY closely.  He saw the man pale, ever so slightly.

_Interesting_.

“You _DO_ have the stomach for this, DI Sanderson?” Gabe prodded. “Missing persons cases can end in some ugly places.”

Elijah wiped his bloodless lips with the back of his hands. “Yeah, Gabe, sure. Cause I do.”

“Oh good. Cause I’ve got a ping off his cellphone in Holburn. So let’s go see what we turn up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who has left comments and kudos!
> 
> It is so kind and helps maintain my confidence to share my odd-ball scribblings.


	5. Chapter 5

Ari exhaled with relief when Crowley finally announced that he was leaving. The prospect of somehow offending Newt’s intense employer, after he had already put Newt and Anathema out so much, was, frankly, _mortifying_.

Ari couldn’t help think of all the times he’d been told how bad he was at impressing Elijah’s superiors. How he dressed strangely, spoke stuffily, always supplied the wrong beers and crudités, held the wrong politics, played the wrong music. In nineteen years of dinner parties and banquets and picnic luncheons, he’d never managed a single one properly.

Newt’s boss did seem _nice_ though, in an unblinking hypnotic way, and had seemed really understanding, after Ari had embarrassed himself and run away in tears after maybe twenty seconds of conversation. The poor man had even tried to lay the blame on himself, using the same sort of self deprecating language Ari was used to using about him self. It was enough to shock Ari into the moment, to spark a tiny, short-lived, -but _bright_ \- flame of kindred ship.

But, although Newt’s boss was nice, bosses were still terrifying and ineffable beings, in general... and it was such a relief to see him head out the door before Ari accidentally got his host fired.

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask for a lift back,” Newt mused, plucking the second last croissant out of the basket. “You don’t think I should have offered, do you Ana?”

“It’s your day off, Newt,” Ana replied breezily, sipping her tea. “So no, I _DON’T_ think. Besides, the walk will do him good. Exercise, and all that.”

Newt crinkled his nose at her. “Honestly, you are such a _Doctor_.” 

“I suppose I could have offered to lend him my bicycle...”

Newt laughed. “Cor! Can you imagine that...?”

Ana smiled back over the rim of her jam jar. “Be the talk of the village for weeks. Anthony Crowley _cycling_. Might even get a photo of my bike in the Daily Mirror.”

“And if it were smart about it, your bike could leverage that into a reality telly appearance,” Newt replied thoughtfully. “Get famous. Leave us all behind...”

  
  
“Spin out... go to bicycle rehab...”

”...Join a bicycle cult...”

”What’s a bicycle cult?”

”Oh, I dunno. Maybe Soul Cycle is a bicycle-cult from the bicycles point-of-view..?”

Ari watched them with delight, and also with a decided pang of sadness. It was almost like the very beginning with Elijah. Back before he’d put on a little weight, back before he’d become estranged from his mother. Back when...

His eye began to sting uncomfortably. _Again_.  
Oh, he was _ridiculous_.

He took a deep breath. Or he _meant_ to take a deep breath, but, to his horror, he instead let out a loud yawn, drawing his host’s attention and making their morning all about himself.

Again.

 _Ridiculous_.

“Ari, you still seem so tired,” Newt said softly. “You don’t have to be up just because we are. You’re more than welcome to go back to bed for a bit, or....”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly,” Ari interrupted quickly, determined to proof that, despite is current efforts, he really _NEEDN’T_ be a burden. “There must be some chores or something that I can do around here... to help... Not that you don’t keep your house beautifully. Despite both working full time. And running a small business. And Ana here a village Doctor no less, and you are both such impressive young people and... _oh dear_...”

Newt and Ana shared a lookbetween them that Ari found entirely inscrutable and it turned his stomach in knots.

“Ari, but didn’t we all just decide you were a paying guest..? That bursary thing, or whatever?”

Ari struggled to control his expression. “Oh, but you see, that’s not the same thing, is it? It’s _charity_ , and I haven’t done anything to _deserve_ it. It’s bad enough that I’m taking funds away from people who really need it, I can at least have the good grace not to be lazy about it.”

Another look was exchanged, this time Newt appeared _even more_ flustered and Ana appeared to be controlling her expression _even more_ tightly.

_You are ANNOYING them now Ari_ , he told himself in Elijah’s voice. _Can’t you EVER shut up?_

Ana began to speak carefully. “Ari, I want you to imagine something for me. Imagine, instead of _you_ being in this situation, that it was _your best friend_ was in this situation. Your best friend was running away from danger and needed help. And, there was help available. People offering it, and people willing to give it. Would you tell your best friend that they didn’t deserve help, and that they should not take it, so it was available for more important victims?”

Ari sighed. “Well, I’m not sure it’s relevant, my dear. At this moment, my best friend is a pregnant cow that I met yesterday.”

Ana clapped her jam jar tea down in frustration. “Oh for goodness sake. Suppose your cow was a human. What advice would you give her?”

“I think you missed my point, my dear,” Ari replied, his voice barely audible even to himself. “My point is that the people worthy of kind advice from best friends have best friends to give it.”

“Well, I’m available,” Newt said looking not at Ari but straight ahead. “I’ll be your best friend. I’ll tell you that even if it doesn’t feel like it now, that none of this is who you are, it’s something that happened to you. And, I know it doesn’t feel like it now- I mean, _nineteen years of your life_ , how could it?- but, it’s true. Take the help, Ari. No one begrudges it to you. I don’t have to tell you the world can be cruel, that it can disappoint you. But sometimes it’s kind. Sometimes it’s wonderful and... _oh_ , you must be talking about Shadwell’s cow! The one that always stands by the hedge, just down from where we found you! I wonder if that’s why she stands there... if she’s been waiting for you...”

Newt trailed off softly.

Ana’s eyes were shining. “Oh, Newt,” she whispered, and leaned over to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

Newt grinned “And?”

Ana laughed. “And your stupid face.”

Ari felt overwhelmed, with bone melting exhaustion and with the seemingly unending well of kindness he’d somehow tumbled into. But, he refused to ruin the moment by crying again. 

Maybe he really would go back to bed.

———————-

As it turned out, when Gabe and Elijah found Ari’s phone it was in the hands of some little, punk-ass kid who was attempting to fence it along with two or three of Ari’s credit cards.

“Get our of here, before I arrest you, like you deserve you little shit,” he snarled after shaking the kid down for everything he knew. “It’s lucky for you that you aren’t worth the paperwork.”

The kid ran. And Gabe now had a description of Ari wearing memorably implausible aggregation of football clothing and a new point on Ari’s route.A rubbish bin near the lake in St James Park.  
  
  


Standing at the edge of the lake, Gabe sneered at some optimistically misguided ducks. “Fuck off, lake rats,” he muttered. “That’s the problem with this city. Lakes full of lake rats. Sky full of sky rats. Sewer full of rat- rats.” He glared some more. “Why come here, Sandy?”

”Err... to London?” Elijah asked before launching into some boring crap about his early life.

Gabe cut him off when he felt like it. “No, David Copperfield, I don’t give a shit about your life story. Why would _Ari_ walk out on you, and come _here_? What does this place mean?”

Elijah shrugged. “I dunno. He came here a lot. Always trying to drag me. Childhood, something, mother, blah blah.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “You didn’t listen once? Even by accident? _Whatever_. So, Sandy... imagine you are a frightened, little, city-mouse. You run away from home, buy a silly disguise, cause you’ve seen too many movies, then you go visit the ducks... because? _Why_? Because you’re leaving London?....You toss your credit cards and phone, in full view of street kids, cause you’re not as clever as you think you are, and you’re trying to think things through, but you’re out of your depth and you’re running on adrenaline.... So, you put on a disguise, you say goodbye to your ducks, you toss your phone and then you.... _what_? Where did the little mouse go?”

Sandy shrugged. “I dunno. Look... Gabe, I really don’t think this is worth our time. Maybe, if we talk to Enoch, we...”

Gabe spun around and glared, stepping too close to Elijah. Towering over him. “We? I happen to agree with Enoch, Sandy. Why would I try and convince him that your fuck-up wasn’t a fuck-up?”

”Alright Gabe, Jesus.” Elijah muttered stepping back. “Fine. I’ll help. He might go to the train station, maybe?”

Gabe sighed. “But _which_ train station, Sandy? Going _where_?” 

  
“Dunno. Charring Cross?”

Gabe turned his back. “Fine, I give. Stop ‘ _helping_ ’!”

He looked out over the lake and caught site of...

_An image struck him of Ari. Not **that** night... but a dinner party. At Enoch’s. Sandy has just made some joke at Ari’s expense and it had really cut. The little mouse’s face had dropped, plummeted, and then he’d made a beeline to the buffet and stuffed his cheeks full of Mrs Cryer’s hor d'oeuvres._

....”Ah...” Gabe smiled with satisfaction. “You are a frightened mouse, and a sad mouse, and so you _eat_! You spot the cafe and you think, a little bite to eat won’t hurt. Let’s go, Sandy. See if the staff remember something.”

Without waiting Gabe began striding around the lake, not looking back at Sandy scurrying after.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: There are passing references to previous drug use in this chapter.

Crowley meandered his way though Tadfield using the gait he’d perfected, over the years, for its ability to irritate everyone born before 1960, without them being able to quite articulate _why_.

He waved at any old ladies he spotted glowering at him, utilizing that weird, little, _finger-wiggling_ wave they used with their friends. Sometimes, they’d stomp away from their lace curtains. Sometimes, they’d just glower harder. 

But, every sweet once in a while, he’d do it and an old lady would flash back a knowing smile and maybe nod orslightly lift her chin. One of these days, he was going to collect all of _THOSE_ old ladies in a mini-bus and take them on a gambling tour of Monaco.

What a time _that_ would be.

And then, the kids! Four kids buzzed him on their bicycles, passing close enough, and fast enough, that he felt the breeze of them.

“Hooligans!” He shouted at them, happily. Their leader gestured back with both hands. _It was a scant five years before those gestural skills will serve Master Young well behind the whee_ l, Crowley thought. 

And then, that thought hit him, like a four tonne truck.

Immediately, his chest felt caught in a vice and he, quite literally, had to bite his tongue to avoid screaming at the kids, for real.

Stop it, Crowley! You aren’t the old man, who shouts at children. You’re the boy who got shouted, at and grew up into the man that _ironically_ shouts at children....

And you _CAN’T_ smell smoke. Look around you. Nothing is on fire. It’s just the world’s most boring village, on the world’s most boring morning. Everything is green, and honestly, slightly sodden, and you _can’t_ smell smoke. And you especially can’t smell anything burning.

And you can’t _FEEL_ flames.

That’s ridiculous. It’s chilly, actually. That dew over there will as likely freeze as it will evapourate. 

Your heart is pounding because your old, and walking, and you never exercise, and you spend a good ten years of your life intaking more cocaine than fiber.

And you don’t hurt.

You aren’t in pain.

You can’t _feel_ anything.

There, that was better.  
  


This would be a really excellent moment for a cigarette if he weren’t stupidly quitting again.

Instead, he pulled out his phone. Dialed B.

“ _Yeah?”_

“It’s Crowley.”

“ _Right. Which lock up are you in, and which drugs are you on?_ ”

Crowley let out an involuntary snort. “It’s always so nice when your legal representatives have faith in you. Why are you so cynical,B?”

It was B’s turn to snort. “ _Dunno. Fascinating question, that. ‘Why do lawyers have no faith in humanity in general, and you in particular?’ We many never get to the bottom of that mystery. So, if you haven’t been knicked; what do you want then?”_

Crowley kicked some gravel idly with his feet. “Yeah I need your help with something. I’ve accidentally done some charity work...”

“ _Told you before,Crowley, tearing the clothes off some bright young thing and letting them raid your closet, so they don’t have to go home in their pants, DOES NOT COUNT as charitable donation.”_

“Not even that one that took the Vera Wang gown? “

B scoffed. “ _That one serves you right. How old was he? 20? But seriously Crowley, I can do this all day and it’s your money, but what do you really want?”_

“No honestly,” Crowley replied. “I need to do a charity thing. Set up a charity fund type...thing. And I need to do it anonymously, and I need to have actually already done it a little while ago....“

A long, long, sigh echoed down the phone. “ _Ya know wot, Crowley? I’m not even going to ask this time. Just text me whatever fragments from your lies you remember and I’ll figure something out_.”

“Thanks B,” Crowley replied.“I owe you.”

“ _Yes, you do. You owe me money! You do understand how this works, right? I keep you out of cages, you pay me money? I’ll bill you. Handsomely. I assure you._ ”

“Oh good. I do hate it when you bill me while not looking your best.”

“ _One day I WILL murder you, Crowley. And I’ll get away with it too._ ”

The banter was doing Crowley good. His feet started moving again. “Yeah cause you will, B. But, I’m pretty confident you won’t murder me until you embezzle quite a bit more of my money.”

“ _Die in a hole, Crowley. Anything else?_ ”

Crowley hesitated. “Um... yeah actually. If I have you a name would you be able to like, poke around a little bit, and like find things out about them?”

“ _Oh, my giddy red aunt. We stalking people now are we, Crowley?_ ”

“No! No! Not _stalking_... just like background checks, maybe university transcripts, that sort of thing? Nothing _creepy_. Just, like, private investigator stuff. That’s a thing, isn’t it?” Crowley answered hesitantly.

“ _Is there such a thing as ‘non-creepy‘ private investigator stuff? Another one of your questions for the ages, Crowley. And not at all disturbing. This is definitely going to end well.You might need more than a name, by the way._”

Crowley chucked. “I doubt it with this name. Aziraphale Zophiel Fell.”

There was a long pause. “ _I refuse to believe that is a person.”_

“That’s what I said!” Crowley replied. “And you didn’t even see the beanie!” 

—————-

“Yeah, and in the Liverpool beanie,” Chalki answered, looking up at Gabe through her lashes. “Hard to forget. I asked him if it was the Kopites or the Man-U fans that gave him the shiner, and he looked at me like I was speaking Ancient Greek!”

“Actually,” Elijah muttered. “You would have had a better chance if you had been speaking Ancient Greek.”

Chalki ignored him entirely, keeping her attention entirely on Gabe. 

Gabe smiled back. “Do you remember anything else? Maybe what he ate, or if he said where he was going?”

Chalki pursed her lips, looking just a little uncomfortable. “Look, are you _SURE_ this guy is dangerous? He didn’t _SEEM_ dangerous... just kinda out of it, and sweet. Sort of like my nana.”

“That’s what makes him so dangerous,” Gabe replied nodding his head sadly. “Look, nobody likes to say it, Chalki, but you and I know that some people just aren’t right in the head. Prone to snap. Now, I’m not talking about your nana, of course. But, _this guy_? We need to find him, and get him off the street. Quicker the better. So, ANYTHING you remember might be helpful.”

Chalki nodded along. “Said something about Edinburgh, I think. Asked if we had a newspaper cause he wanted to check the temperature there. Who doesn’t have a phone these days?”

Gabe lifted his eyebrows. “Edinburgh? Did you see if he headed towards the station.”

Chalki shook her head. “Nah, I reckon he was headed to that Victoria coach station. Said something about not missing his bus?”

“Chalki,” Gabe said smiling, taking her hand as if you shake it, but instead holding it tenderly. “You have been SO helpful. Now I have to go, and follow up on all of that, but I want you to know how much I personally appreciate your help.”

Chalki blushed a little. “S’all right. Was just doing my bit, yeah? You can’t be too careful, these days.”

“Indeed, you can’t.” Gabe agreed. “And thanks again for the coffees! Now, you have a fantastic day, you hear me?”

Gabe’s smile dropped the moment he turned around, his eyes fixed. 

Victoria Coach Station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you so much to those leaving comments and kudos.
> 
> I’ve fallen a little behind responding to comments, but I am truly grateful for every single one. They are inspiration, motivation, and most of all APPRECIATED!


	7. Chapter 7

Ana held her office door trying very hard to psychically push Mary Hodges out the door. The woman could _talk_! She’d talked her way almost straight through Ana’s lunch break, for a start.

Ana checked her computer clock and, feeling guilty, slipped into the little back room where Ari had been patiently toiling away for the past six weeks.

“Ari, I loath to ask, but could you possibly pop out and get me.....”

The smell of coffee hit her full in the face as Ari handed her a cup.

“Oh, you angel,” Ana moaned. “How did you know?” 

Ari smiled, blue eyes meeting here’s serenely. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, because you look as lovely as ever, but, it was just something about your eyes when you took Mrs Hodges in for her consult. I do hope I haven’t overstepped...”

Ana had grown used to Ari saying that sort of thing, but unlike at first, where he did seem _genuinely_ fearful that he might have overstepped, the phrase, and those of its sort, had become less fraught, had _de-charged_ somehow, back toward the level of normal conversation.

Ana supposed she should not be so thrilled that she had managed to convince a grown man she was not about to scream at him, or strike him, at the slightest provocation. In truth however, she wouldn’t have been prouder to have charmed a wild stag into eating out of her hand.

“It’s _heavenly_ , and just what I wanted, thank you,” she said taking small sips. “How are you getting on here, then?”

For weeks, Ari had been methodologically scanning and backing up all of the practices old case records, a task Ana, and her medical receptionist Deirdre, had fallen unfortunately behind in. After Manila folders started _haunting their dreams._  


  
Ari however, had a strange zen-like attitude toward the whole boring, repetitive nightmare, and insisted he did not mind at all. Ana paid him of course, but she also knew that he handed virtually all the money straight back to her as rent, and food, and supplies for one of Newt’s various pet projects.

“Very well _indeed,_ my dear. Getting towards the end of it, actually. I suppose someone might normally say that they had ‘broken the back’ of such a task, but I’ve always loathed that expression. So _violent_ , and so _adversarial_. And particularly unsuited to a doctors office, I should think.”

“Oh you MUST get bored, though,” Ana replied, in something of a non-sequitor, but Ari’s refusal to be enraged by hours of constant scanning was utterly inexplicable to her.

“Not at all,” Ari replied. “It’s so nice to be useful, and contributing, after relying on your kindness. And, if it were to become monotonous, then I always have those incorrigible fellows to entertain me.”

Those _incorrigible fellows_ were a pair of tiny black and white kittens Newt had found orphaned about a week ago, and which Ari had been dutifully feeding, and toileting every two hours, day and night, since.

Newt had initially felt honour-bound to do it, but Ari had been scandalised at the idea. “But you _drive_ for a living, Newt my dear, and Ana is a _Doctor_. Your sleep is _sacrosanct_ , both of you. I shall manage nicely.”

And, as that was as assertive as Ari had ever been with them, both Ana and Newt ultimately agreed.

There had been the odd baby kitten related midnight panic about this or that, most memorably a feared bladder blockage, that had resolved itself into Newt’sface, but overall, Ari _had_ managed nicely. The kittens were putting on weight splendidly- perhaps even a tiny bit _too splendidly_ \- and now had their eyes open, and at least one eye each for trouble.

Now, in a water-bottle warmed box in the record room, they mewled indignantly at Ari, for calling them incorrigible fellows rather than just FEEDING them, already.

“Oh, very well, little hellions,” he sighed, “Do excuse me, Ana dear, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Instead, Ana followed him into the smalloffice kitchenette to continue their conversation as he made up the bottle, recalling the hilariously sincere discussion he had Newt had had about precisely the best manner to do so. Several websites had been consulted, including, at one point, the World Health Organisation. 

“So, yes, my dear. I can’t imagine it will be more than another week before I’ve finished the scanning. Although the off-site storage thing seems to be filling up... do you suppose we need to secure access to another cloud, or something?”

Ana shrugged apologetically. “I’m not sure, honestly. Not really my area, IT.”

“Not mine either, I’m afraid,” Ari replied sadly. “Oh I know, I’ll text Newt! He was telling me last night he had a degree in computer science!”

Ana paled slightly. “Oh, there’s no need to do that...”

“Oh, it’s no bother!” Ari replied happily. “I’d really like to keep thisentirely off your plate! So you can focus on the health and wellbeing of the people of Tadfield, my dear. I assure you, that I shall not permit Newt to view any of the records themselves. I take the trust you have placed in me on behalf of your patients most seriously.”

Ana nodded hopelessly, taking one last long look at her fully functional office computer network, and headed out on her house calls.

It was a long afternoon, the best news of which was a slowly healing diabetic ulcer. Ana pulled up to the clinic, retrieved her bag, stowed her bicycle and sternly told off her imagination.

_The computers will NOT be on fire_ , she told herself sternly. _At worst the monitors will just be rather overcommitted to a blue screen. That’s ALL._

But, stepping inside the computer in reception was... perfectly fine.

As was the one in her office.

Scared to even hope for a hat trick, she cautiously stuck her head into the record room, to the sight of... _not_ a broken computer and a mournful, apologetic husband, but rather a THIRD fully functional computer. And a softly giggling Ari. And Anthony Crowley, sunglasses and all, with a 8 ounce kitten perched on his head.

“What happened here?” she asked perplexed, and _definitely_ not checking the computer tower for that blue smoke Newt was in the habit of manifesting. 

Ari began to laugh in earnest.

“I’m being _very slowly_ mauled to death,” Crowley replied, mournfully. “Those claws are needle sharp. And my scalp has a very health blood supply, as my bountiful locks will attest.My demise is inevitable.”

Feeling the slight bafflement of those that walk in late on a joke, Ana nodded sadly. “Shame really. Your corpse is going to go to waste. They aren’t on solids yet.”

“You’ll have to bung me in the freezer, then,” Crowley demanded, looking horrified. “Little beast is bringing me down, fair and square. He shouldn’t miss out. He can enjoy me later. But don’t give any of me to that other kitten. I refuse to be a participation trophy. Even in death.”

“I think I rather like the idea of participation trophies,” Ari murmured thoughtfully. “At least for very little ones...”

Crowley scowled. “Oh well you would, wouldn’t you, Angel? If there was brochure for utopia, it would have your picture in it. You’d be the guy with the friendly name tag they photographed handing the blended, multi-ethnic family their organic, vegan fruit-basket.”

Ari raised an eyebrow. “Which are the non-vegan fruits? Remind me?”

“Dragonfruit,” Crowley replied immediately. “Dragons count as animals. Also... eggplants?”

“Eggplants are only non-vegan in America, dear. Here they are aubergines and _perfectly_ vegan. Not fruit though.”

“No, you’re wrong. It’s one of those fruits that pretend to be vegetables. Like tomatoes.”

Ari rolled his eyes. “For dietary purposes, it’s a vegetable. Isn’t it Ana?”

Ana shook her head. “No way. This conversation is ridiculous, I’ll have no part in it. And besides, you forgot gooseberries.Where is my husband by the way?”

“We ran into old Mr Tyler outside with his shopping, so Newt gave him a lift home, and presumably put away his groceries, changed all his light-bulbs and mended his screen door, all on my time. While I sit here. Abandoned. Like a non-vegan gooseberry. But he should be back any minute. Certainly in time to witness my gruesome death.” 

“And, we didn’t need him, after all,” Ari added. “Anthony got straight on the phone with the internet people, and got us more clouds, or gigathings, or whatever!”

Crowley groaned. “Oh, good grief. _Giga-things? Really?_!”

Ana pulled up a chair. “In his defense, I’m sure those IT people make up some of those acronyms.”

“ _Et tu, Anathema_? And, a doctor complaining about made-up acronyms? I’ve changed my mind. I’m _GLAD_ I’m getting mauled to death. Much cleaner way to go than irony poisoning.”

“Thank you for dealing with the computer people, Anthony,” Ana replied. “And also for...you know...”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “Finding something else for Newt to do, while I did it? No problem. Can’t have Ari’s hard work go to waste, can we? He’ll be finished soon, he tells me.”

Ana nodded at Ari. “Yes, he was just telling me, before I left. It’s going to be such a relief to have this all finished. Not least to Ari, I’d wager, however stoically he bears it.”

Ari nodded. “Well, yes. It will be nice to _finish_ something, but, I think I’m mostly dreading it, alas. I will _miss_ you all so much.”

Crowley and Ana frowned simultaneously.

“.....Sorry, what?”

“..... why would you miss us?”

Ari blinked at them. “Because, I’ll have to move, once this job is done. There’s no other work in Tadfield, and Ana can’t possibly justify keeping me on once this job is done...”

Ana thought frantically. “I’m sure there must be something else to do around here... let me think... ah... leave it with me...”

She glanced at Crowley. He finally scooped the sleepy, valiantly purring kitten off his head, his expression unreadable behind dark glasses. No help there then.

“Knock, knock,” Newt, finally returned, called from the waiting room. “Where is everybody?” he called, and on finding them added “Who died?”

“Ahh, Anthony did,” Anathema answered. “Mauled to death by a kitten. Very tragic I’m sure. You get Mr Tyler home alright?”

“Sure did,” Newt answered, looking around the room uncertainly. “All good.”

“Right, well, we’ll be off then.” Crowley said abruptly standing, and handing off the kitten he was holding. “Bye, all.”

Newt shrugged and followed.

Ari silently took a sip from what had to be a _very_ cold mug of tea.

Ana patted the kittens absently, and left Ari to his scanning.

—————————  
  


Gabe scowled furiously at his notes. It had been nearly eleven weeks and he was stuck; Ari Fell’s trail had gone cold.

He was pretty sure that Ari had abandoned his trip to Edinburgh when the coach stopped in Milton Keynes, thanks to information provided by the stacked, and vaguely homophobic, bus driver. Scarlett something-or-other.

Gabe had played Scarlett like a violin, leaning into all her prejudices to ensure her cooperation. Sandy had been a snotty little bitch-baby about it the whole trip back, as well.

But, try as he might, Gabe had been unable to either find any other trace of Fell in Milton Keynes or its surrounds, or figure out where he’d gone next.

Or even figure out _WHY_ he’d got off the damn bus in the first place.

He hissed through his teeth. _Where did you run to, little city-mouse? Where are you hiding?_

  
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and Gabe blinked. There was a fucking lady-bird on his desk. It was an orangy-red one, with two large black spots. He glared at it. How had the filthy thing got in the building?

Then, his phone then rang, and Gabe groaned when he realised it was Enoch. 

And, Enoch was furious. “ _We have got a problem, Gabriel,”_ Enoch hissed down the phone.

Gabe grimaced. “I know, Enoch. Believe me...”

“ _Believe me, you don’t know,_” Enoch hissed back. “ _We aren’t the only ones sniffing around Fell. Someone else is having him investigated._”

Gabe blinked. “What? Who?”

“ _I’ve traced the private investigator back to a certain law firm. A prestigious one. An_ _ expensive one.”_

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gabe replied, completely baffled.

A law firm?

“ _Doesn’t make sense, unless someone is investigating Fell’s credibility as a witness. A witness against_ _ us,_ _for example._ ”

Gabe blinked. “Does _Professional Standards_ farm out their opposition research now?”

“ _I don’t know, Gabriel. And, I definitely do not expect to find out. I expect you to do as I asked, and find Fell, and put him in a shallow grave. I do NOT expect to have to call you on this manner again_.”  


  
Enoch hung up.

Gabe swore loudly, and to avoid throwing and breaking yet another phone, he slammed his fist down on the lady-bird, and flicked the remains of the tiny creature from his desk.


	8. Chapter 8

Ari carefully set the third last box into place, and picked up the second last box, telling himself he did not feel dread.

_Pull yourself together, Ari_ , he told himself firmly. _You are not about to be back to where you were three months ago_. 

He had some of his own money set aside now. _Proper_ money, not Elijah’s dirty-envelope money. And in his own bank account too. An account with just his own name on it, something he’d never had, beyond a nine- month period at 18 when his mother’s name had been taken off his accounts and before Elijah had taken him to the bank to get his name added.

_Just me now_ , Ari told himself, determined. _And that’s a good thing_.

He knew that Newt and Ana were were worried about him - the dear, sweet things- but he simply could not impose himself on their kindness any longer. Surely, the _last_ thing a young married couple wanted was a tragic, old fuddy-duddy, like him, as a perpetual houseguest. And yet, they’d tolerated him withsuch good grace, falling over themselves to make him feel welcome . Who knew how long it would take them to gain the courage to kick him out? 

He’d make his way to Birmingham. There might be jobs there, and at least he had something recent for his resume now. And he was somewhat certain Ana would provide him a decent reference. Better than nothing, anyway.

And Birmingham was a big city. There’d have to be homeless shelters there. 

_Surely_? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the jingle of Ana’s office bell. Ana’s medical receptionist, Deirdre, was out for lunch, and Ana was hiding in her office, for lunch, so Ari decided to take the intruder on himself.

“Oh!Councilor Tracy, my dear.” Ari greeted her, while unlocking the reception computer and squinting at the electronic appointment book. “I can’t see an appointment for you, I do hope you haven’t taken poorly!”

Across the waiting room, Ana’s door opened and she poked her head out, mouth stuffed full of sandwich. “Iff effrifung awlrife?”

“Everything is fine, ducks...”Tracy replied, although something was decidedly _off_ about her demeanor. She looked vaguely perplexed, and her voice was just a little over-bright. 

Even by her standards.

“...I’m here to... gossip...”  She trailed off, thoughtfully, before seeming to reset, and continue, in a slightly rote fashion. 

“...The strangest thing just happened! I was sitting, in my councilor’s office, and I was approached by a... anonymous benefactor! This anonymous benefactor has donated the funds to start a community library! Complete with a full librarians salary! _Fancy that_! So now I need to hire a librarian! Here in Tadfield! Err... _Fancy that_!” She smiled widely at Ari.

“Oh, a library! How exciting for Tadfield!” Ari replied, not quite sure what to make of Tracy’s demeanor, but certain he was in favour of village libraries. “I must say, I envy your new librarian. The prospect of setting up a brand new library would be a professional’s dream! I know a bit about this actually, I have a degree in library and information studies.”

“Oh, do you, pet?!” Tracy replied over-brightly.

“Do you, indeed?” Ana replied, lips pursed. “What do you think, Tracy? Does Ari here _**envy**_ Tadfield’s new librarian-to-be? Does that accurately describe the relationship between Ari and that person, _whomever they might turn out to be_?”

“Errmm....” Tracy replied, again trailing off. “Actually, do you know what, Ari?! I’ve just had a thought...Tadfield is a small place.... not just anyone fits in around here. And you do, my dear. Honestly, actually, you do?! And given that, by complete coincidence, you happen to be qualified, do you think that maybe you’d like to apply? To be the librarian? Of the library paid for by the mysterious, definitely not local, never met him before, anonymous benefactor?”

Tracy and Ana were both watching him closely, expectantly.  


Ari had absolutely no idea what to say. 

They clearly were both expecting some answer from him, but he had no idea what or whether they even wanted the same one. 

_But a job? And such a job, in this beautiful village, near his new friends?_

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to apply?” he suggested hesitantly, eyes flicking quickly between the two faces.

Tracy looked pleased, or perhaps relieved, but Ana’s face sort of fell and set, and Ari’s heart plummeted. 

_Of course it did_ , he hissed at himself. _She’s sick of you. She thought she was finally going to see the back of you... and now this._

“But,” he continued quickly, “This would, of course be completely conditional on finding a different place to live. I WILL not impose upon Ana and Newt’s hospitality any longer.”

He searched Ana’s eyes hopefully, but her expression did not clear.

His heart fell further.

_So sick of you she doesn’t even want to share a village with you..._

“... although, on second thought, it might be awkward... and the people of Tadfield have been _so_ kind, I couldn’t possibly deprive them of a truly experienced librarian...”

“Nonsense,” Ana interrupted, her expression suddenly clear. “Of course,you should apply, if you want to, Ari! And you are welcome at Jasmine Cottage, as long as you like...”

Ari sighed. “That’s kind of you to say, my dear...”

“I _mean_ it. I do!” Ana insisted. “He’s applying, Tracy. Thank you so much for stopping by, to gossip, apropos of nothing!”

“My pleasure, ducks!” Tracy replied and dived out the door, glancing furtively back at Ari would change his mind again if she didn’t leave fast enough.

Ari still felt sick. No, he felt... _unwanted_. And, he had felt like that for so much of his life, it surprised him that he was even bothered. But he _HADN’T_ been feeling like that, in Tadfield, and the _return_ of the feeling... the feeling that had been a dull ache for longer than a decade...somehow, the return felt like a body blow and....

“Ari, _STOP_!”

Ana was almost shouting, had apparently been trying to get his attention for longer than a moment.

Her words made him startle, jump, and he inwardly hated himself for it.

_For gods sake have some dignity._

“Ari, look at me.” Ana was looking at him searchingly. “Ari... I’m _sorry_. I’m sorry I wasn’t excited for you... no that’s... I _AM_ excited for you. I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through...”

“I don’t think I’m quite following you, my dear,” Ari replied, dully.  


It was obvious that Ana felt bad about letting her true feelings slip through, and, as a gentleman, he should be trying _harder_ to help smooth things over. But he couldn’t quite summon the energy.

_ No wonder they want you gone. You are so ungrateful! So gauche! _

“I mean... don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence?” Ana was saying gently. “I mean this ‘mysterious benefactor’ pops up, exactly now? Have you thought it might be Anthony?”

Ari blinked. “But... how could it be? How would he even _know_ I’m a librarian by training? I never told him, I never told any of you. I don’t really like to talk about it, because I’m ashamed. I never did anything with it, never made anything is myself. And anyway, why on earth _would_ he, if you are implying what I suspect you are? I’m certain _Anthony Crowley_ could attain the attention of a hundred dozen people far more attractive and interesting than me, at far less expense.”

Ana slowly breathed in, and out. “Okay. Well, _that’s_ all rubbish. But, more importantly, this impression that I’ve given clearly given you, that we don’t want you, that you don’t deserve this? That’s all rubbish too. You... you feel like _family_ , Ari. I know you haven’t really been in our lives that long, but... you do.”

“Again, so kind of you to say, my dear. But, even family would be over- staying their welcome, by now.And, I’m not actually...”

“No!” Ana interrupted again. “You know what? _Fuck it!_ I _know_ you are a good person, a _kind_ person, and I know how rare that is. Newt and I both adore you, and your stupid bow-ties and stupid waistcoats. And, you need a family. I know about that chosen family thing. I went to university! I subscribed to DIVA magazine for three years! So, I’m available. One big sister. Right here. Choose some family, Ari. Choose me.”

Ari felt rather like he’d been hit by a mallet. “Oh my dear, I...” And then, he changed his mind. “... it would be little sister, surely.”

Ana smiled. “You seem more like you need a big sister, though.”

Ari smiled too. “You might be right about that. So, you _really_ wouldn’t mind, if I tried to get this job? Tried to stay in Tadfield?”

“I would be _delighted_.” Ana replied firmly. “And _honestly_ , even if I didn’t like you that much? Newt does! He likes having a friend who he isn’t married to, or working for. He likes your chess games, and likes ranting about pundits to you, and likes rescuing pathetic, baby animals with you. I’d tolerate a lot to make that man as happy as being your friend makes him.”

Ari took a moment to catch his breath. “Well, I can’t remember the last time I heard something that pleased me more than that.”

“There you go, then.” Ana said in a tone which seemed intended to firmly settle the matter. “Now, how would you feel about a hug? Too much?”

“I think I’d rather like one, actually...” Ari replied, walking towards Ana’s offered arms.

At first, he tried not to think about how many years it had been since he had been held with any sort of love.  


Then, he decided that it mattered a great deal. 

Then, he decided to just enjoy the moment. 

Then, he worried that he was making things awkward. 

Then, he panicked about his lack of knowledge about the current recommended length for platonic hugs, and even if he did he hadn’t been counting from the start anyway.

Then, he realised that his thought process must be incredibly transparent, because Ana was clearly trying extremely hard not to laugh.

He extracted himself from her arms and began laughing himself, instead. He felt a small, but transcendent joy, when she joined him a moment later.

“I’ll get better at this,” he gasped. “I promise.”

Then, for no reason he could ascertain at all, he started to cry.

——————-

Michael Kemp had set up her small desk at the Department of Professional Standards so that it was very difficult to tell whether she was working or whether she was doing the cryptic crosswords. She was USUALLY working, but sometimes, yes, she was doing the crossword. It kept her sane.

“Michael!!! Phone!!!” Someone called. 

Neither the hold function nor the intercoms worked terribly well, and by the time she even glanced at her phone, all the lights were dark again.

But, she barely had time to furrow her brow before her mobile began to ring, instead.

She gawped at the name.

B.L.Z. Prince.  


_ What the hell could they possibly want?! _

Michael and B.L.Z. Prince went back a long way. Long enough that Michael even knew what some of those initials stood for.

Michael accepted the call.

“ _It’s B,_ ” a drawling monotone said, unnecessarily. “ _And your secretary can’t work a phone for shit_.”

“I don’t have a secretary,” Michael replied, exasperated immediately.

“ _Oh right, yeah. ‘ Personal assistant’_”

“I don’t have one of those, either. We don’t all work in buildings with doormen and Art Deco fittings!” 

“ _Door person_” came the slightly amused reply.

“What do you WANT, B?”

There was something of a pause. “ _Not 100% sure, Michael. I’ve ended up with some corruptcoppers on my radar, while fulfilling an important client’s request, and I guess I wanted to know if they are on your radar too.”_

Michael sighed. “Shalln’t bother to ask which client. What sort of corrupt, though?”

“ _Protection racket, mostly._ ”

“What? Who? Which cops?”

There was a soft clicking of computer keys down the line. “Pair of tossers called Bannerman comma Gabriel and Sanderson comma Elijah. Maybe under the direction of some bloke called Enoch Cryer?”

“Not DAC Cryer,” Michael replied blankly. “That **can’t** be right...”

B snorted. “ _Then you aren’t looking at what I’m looking at_.”

Michael sighed. “Let me check on the other two.”

She pulled up records, and frowned immediately. Nothing has _stuck_ but... she was looking at far more than a typical number of public complaints. For Bannerman, particularly. All things being right, this guy _should_ be on her radar. But she’d never heard of him.

“ _Now, that’s an ominous silence, if I’ve ever heard one,_” B drawled, sounding amused.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to share information with me about this alleged protection rackets?” Michael shot back.

“ _Nah, couldn’t possibly_ ,” B replied, calmly. “ _Shouldn’t_ _have done this much, really._”

“Because you’re clients involved?” Michael pressed. “Is that what this is? Are you fishing about for a deal?”

B snorted again. “ _Nah. If this client was involved in this shabby little conspiracy, I’d A) know about it, and B) have kicked his skinny ass until he was clear of it. But... I’m not sure why he’s got me looking into this yet, so I’m not helping you yet. I’m just calling to say hi, like, and not mentioning that Bannerman and Sanderson are taking bribes from_ _distributors, shaking down the locals and, my personal least favourite, blackmailing local working girls and boys in an decidedly unsavory fashion.”_

“Ugh,” Michael agreed. “Yeah, alright. I’ll have a sniff about.”

“ _Yeah, cheers Michael. ‘Preciate it. See ya never._ ”

Michael sighed, as the call ended abruptly, looking longingly at her cryptic crossword puzzle. 

  * 13 Down - Healer Greenfly genius gives me up; reborn (8)



_Yeah_ , thought Michael. _No kidding_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, once again (always!) to all my readers but especially those who comment/leave kudos. 
> 
> (It’s not always easy for me to press that post button. I dither, I waver, I press the button and dive for cover, off the internet! And yet when I return, I find such generosity, kindness, and support in my inbox! Thank you, sincerely.)


	9. Chapter 9

“And your cheque, Councilor Tracy,” Crowley said loudly enough to make the woman cringe. She had actually worn a trench coat and fedora! Small village people were _amazing_! All those years wasted on footballers and soap-starlets! 

Tracy snatched the cheque out from between his fingers, goggled at the amount and then tucked it into her bra! Crowley rocked back on his heels and barely contained a whoop of glee.

“I do think he’ll take the bait, duck,” she whispered when Crowley had contained himself. “He looked ever so _tempted_...”

This nearly set Crowley off again. “My dear Councilor Tracy, whyever are you whispering...?”

Her eyes flicked left and right. “ In case there are any _whatits_ around. You know, investigative journalists....”

Crowley lowered his voice. “Oh quite right, quite right. I hadn’t thought of that. Still we are only starting a library... not very _MUCH_ of a scandal, if I little out of step with our respective reputations...”

“They have their ways,” Tracy replied darkly. They _spin_ things.”

“Dig into your nefarious past?”

“Oh I expect not, dear. Most of my most shocking stuff was shot on super 8 and who has a set up that can play that, these days?”

“Still, journalists, though,” Crowley exclaimed, in a voice that was, to his delight, still too loud for Tracy’s taste. “In Tadfield!”

“All sorts around these days,” Tracy muttered scowling. “Nothing to be done about it.”

“Nothing to be done about it?! I’m _appalled_ to here such defeatism from you, Tracy. You, Tadfield’s staunchest defender against the invading hordes!”

Tracy looked at him sideways. “To be honest dear, I always considered your lot to be the invading hordes.”

Crowleycocked his head. “My lot... as in... ?”

Tracy scoffed, “You know. _Gentrifiers_!”

Crowley affected an offended expression. “My dear Councilor Tracy! In  my entire life I have never, NOT ONCE, improved property values.”

Tracy smiled wryly. “And yet, now here you are, starting a library!”

“What? I can’t do character-growth?”

Tracy shrugged. “Hmm... yes I suppose that peacocking for a man roughly your own age could count as character growth.”

Crowley glared. “Peacocking?! Look, I’m not... That wasn’t...”

_He could have sworn this was fun just a minute ago._

“...You see, Tracy... what you don’t get is.... you see there are these _kittens,_ now.”

“Did you say ‘kittens’, dear?”

Crowley threw up his hands. “Yes, kittens. Two feeble, orphaned, perfectly ordinary kittens and... look... there’s this man, right? But like, barely. Still a teenager, technically. Sweet, beautiful, just starting out. But then his bloody mother cuts him off. And he’s all alone. Then, he meets this, like, lecher... this older guy that throws a few crumbs of affection his way. And, it’s a pittance compared to what he deserves, what _anyone_ deserves, but, you know teenagers, Tracy, they’re idiots, and so he doesn’t _know_! And then the lecher locks him away, hurts him, steals decades... and when the man finally leaves... I mean, if anyone had an excuse to just look out for themselves for the rest of their lives... but, no! _Kittens_!”

Tracy squinted. “Well, I think I followed that...”

“Kittens! Up every two hours, for kittens! When the world’s already full of cats! Because some people are just... And so, if some troll stole his life, is it really so bad if I pull some strings in the background? Rig the game, just a little bit, so he’s actually got a chance for... why is that so _bad_? Why am I the villain of this piece?”

“I don’t think anyone thinks you are the villain, pet,” Tracy replied gently. “Just... you know... be _careful_! And, be careful with your own heart too, for that matter. Kittens or no kittens, some scars can’t just be magicked away. The world is not that kind, and it’s as least as full of pain as it is filled with cats.”

Crowley shook his head, eyes stinging. “Nah, fuck it. Fuck _careful_. Ari Fell gets the library the universe should have just given him in the first place. Two libraries, if he wants. And I’ll even throw in scholarships to Eton for the damn kittens.”

“Summerhill, surely dear,” Tracy replied sternly. “Don’t go around wishing Eton on anyone you are fond of .”

“I went to Eton!” 

“So you should know better then, shouldn’t you duck?!”

———————

“What do _you_ want?!” Gabe growled into the phone. He’d ‘drunk’ far too much ‘coffee’ throughout the morning, and his attempt to level things out with whisky was not going so great.

“ _Nice. Well, that’s nice_.” Auriel sniffed. “ _And after I called you with a tip and everything_?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Gabe muttered, although he was nothing of the sort. “Tip about what?”

“A _bout Elijah’s boyfriend! The one who legged it? Friend of mine, up Oxford-way. Caught wind of a Enhanced DBS check, for working with children. Something about a library? Name of Aziraphale Zophiel Fell. Can’t be two of those! I know you said Milton Keynes... but it’s only thirty miles off, or so, right? I reckon I found him_!”

Every muscle in Gabe’s body clenched. “Do you have an address?”

“ _Or, what you meant to say is, thank you, Auriel! Great work, Auriel! One day I hope to return the favour.”_

“The address!” Gabe growled, unable to unclench his teeth to do so. 

“ _Yeah, a’right. Keep your knickers on. I’ll text you..._ ” 

Gabe managed to hold his temper until he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Then he hung up.

“Sandy!” he roared.

Several of his coworkers nearby jumped and looked at him askance. “What are you losers all staring at?” 

Then Elijah poked his head out of the kitchenette. “Yeah, Gabe? Turn it down a peg, will ya? What do you _want_?”

Gabe stalked over. “We’re going to some pig-shit village in Oxfordshire.” he told Elijah, softly.

“Why, though?”

Gabe smiled broadly. “Mouse hunting.”

Elijah did not smile, and Gabe only very narrowly suppressed a sudden urge to punch him in his ugly troll-face. 

“Gabe, can’t we just like, forget it?” Elijah said uneasily. “Like he’s left us alone, can’t we just leave him alone? Lord knows, I’m over him, and my new boyfriend is way hotter anyway.”

“Sandy, you have really come down with a case of THICK, lately,” Gabe hissed. “Enoch does NOT like loose ends.If it’s not Ari, it might very well be the two of us.”

Elijah shook his head. “Nah, mate. You’re the one whose lost it. ‘Sides, Ari turns up dead, and I’m the first person they gonna look at. Better to leave well enough, alone.”

Gabe grabbed Elijah’s collar and slammed the stupid little shit into the wall. “This isn’t a discussion, sunshine.”

Elijah shoves him in the chest, hard. “And I’m telling you, I’m not getting myself nicked for murdering that dreary, little ponce. Not now I’m finally rid of him.”

Gabe, pulled back a fist, but, at the last moment, caught himself, backed off. Took a moment. A few deep breaths.

“Okay, yeah. Maybe you’re right,Sandy. We gotta be smart about this. Make sure you’ve got an alibi and all that. Heat on you doesn’t help any of us. But, we are still going up there. Reconnaissance. We’ll make a weekend of it!”

Elijah sighed. “Yeah. Fair enough. Can’t hurt. What’s this place called again?”

“Tadfield.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers and thank you all for your support! I’m humbled and honoured by it.
> 
> Now yes, Gabe and Elijah have found Tadfield and they are bringing the plot and associated content warnings with them.
> 
> Bad things are going to start happening to good people. Please watch for content advisories for each chapter if you find them helpful, and if you want/need any particular content advisories please let me know.
> 
> In this chapter, there is nothing graphic but there are references/future threat of physical and sexual violence.
> 
> Take care.

“But, that’s splendid news,” Newt was saying happily. 

Ana and Crowley were in the middle of an intense conversation, conducted entirely via eyebrows. 

_Just so happened to drop by my office, did you?_ Ana’s eyebrows asked. _Right after Tracy dropped by with that letter of offer. Quelle surprise._

_I don’t know what you are talking about,_ Crowley’s eyebrows answered her. _And also? Shut it! And also? Why do your eyebrows know French?_

As far as Ana could tell, Newt and Ari were completely oblivious to all of this forehead acrobatics. 

“It is wonderful,” Ari answered, talking quickly, seeming almost flustered. “I must say I am a little surprised. That interview was so, peculiar! Mostly, we talked about tea. Then, Mr Shadwellasked me if I liked books! What a question! And then Councilor Tracy talked about how inspirational she found Pippi Longstocking to be. For twenty minutes. And that was it really. I suppose they did say it was a rather short short-list, but still!” 

  
Then Ari, almost shyly, handed the letter to Newt, who firmly declared the news splendid for a second time.

Crowley looked like the cat who’d got the canary. And, who’d got the cream. And had whipped up a singing, canary cream-pie.

Ana’s eyebrows decided they were tired of being kill-joys and defected.

Ana surrendered. “We should celebrate.”

Newt grinned like a seven-year-old “Pub Quiz!”

“Newt, noooo!” Ana begged. “The four of us would be the worst possible pub quiz team. I could scoop a better team out of the medical waste bin. Blindfolded!”

Newt shook his head. “Oh, ye of little faith”

“But... but... we’ll be the team that gets every question in the Greek Gods round, but scores zero in sport and somehow negative points in music.”

Crowley sniffed. “I know music. “

“No you don’t,” sniffed Ana. “You don’t know anything about any music that’s come out since Freddie Mercury died.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Okay fine. I admit that I never bought the post-humous album. But you have to understand! Freddie was my guy! It was a whole thing...”

“I meant the music of OTHER BANDS!”

“There are other bands?”

Ana waved a hand at Newt. “Do you see? Do you see what we are dealing with? Do you see what awaits us? This isn’t Thermopylae,this isn’t Agincourt. This is a four lambs planning a jaunt up the slaughterhouse ramp.”

Newt folded his arms. “Pub quiz.”

“Pub quiz,” Crowley agreed, smiling that canary-cream-pie-eating smile. He held up his fist, soliciting a fist bump.

Ari and Newt stared at it in confusion. 

Newt got there eventually, but literally no-one but Anthony Crowley could pull off being left hanging for that long.

All eyes shifted to Ari. 

Ari crinkled his nose apologetically in Ana’s direction before squeaking. “Pub quiz. Actually, going out with my friends, and being hilariously tragic at trivia, is suddenly _exactly_ what I want to do.”

Ana knew when she was licked. “Agh! Fine.”

“Excellent!” Crowley declared. “We’ll take my car, Uber back if we need to, and everything’s my treat.”

Ana tutted. “Anthony! For the last time, drunk dialing random villagers and offering them two hundred pound to pick you up isn’t _Uber_.”

“It’s rich-people Uber,” Crowley insisted. “Come on then, Doctor, Newt, Angel, let’s go.” 

Ana watched, and ever so slightly held her breath, as Crowley’s hand drifted toward Ari’s lower back to guide him out the door, before diverting at the last possible moment to the pocket of his own leather jacket.

————————•

Gabe watched as Elijah watched a tall, red-haired man open the door of a dark burgundy Range Rover, across the pub carpark. Under normal circumstances the smoke coming out of Elijah’sears would have been hilarious, but Gabe had been bone-tired of this whole situation for months.

“Who the fuck is that?” Elijah fumed.

Gabe didn’t even need to run the license plate. He’d been living and breathing every tidbit of information he could find on Tadfield, for days now, and did not need help recognizing its most infamous resident. 

“That, Sandy, is Anthony Crowley. Entitled, trust-fund baby whose probably never done a days work in his life.”

“What the fuck is he doing with Ari.”

“Just out of curiosity, which one are you jealous of, Sandy?” 

However, Gabe was mostly needling Elijah out of habit. His mind had been diverted elsewhere.

Anthony Crowley WAS an entitled trust-fund baby. But he was something else too. 

He was the perfect fall guy.

Gabe smiled to himself. “All right. New plan. We are going back to London.”

“Nah, Gabe. We can’t leave yet.” Sandy’s eyes were locked on the door to the pub.

Gabe sighed. “Jesus, Sandy. Yes, we can leave yet. We’ve found him and it looks like he’s spending his days gold-digging, not snitching. We can take our time now. Be smart. “

“Nah. I’m gonna talk to him. Wipe that smirk off his face. Get my money back.”

Gabe tapped his fist against the inside of the car window, to avoid pouring his fist against the inside of Elijah’s skull. He was surrounded by assholes and idiots.

First he’d run into Michael Kemp, Queen of the Rat-Squad, in the carpark, now this tedious shit. _What the fuck happened to ‘my new boyfriend is hotter anyway’ ?_

“Sit your ass down, Sandy,” Gabe growled, and thankfully the fool listened.“We are leaving _now_ , and you are not even going to think about sneaking back here without me.”

“But...”

“But nothing! You’ve never been to Tadfield, never heard of Tadfield. “

“But, Gabe...”

“Shut up and listen,” Gabe roared. “You know that community policing conference you’re booked on in the new year? The one full of coppersand packed to the gills with evening events? The one you were booked on months before your little house-mouse even ran off?”

Elijah squinted. “Yeah...?”

“That conference Sandy, is when you are going to hear about Tadfield for the very first time. You are going to open a newspaper at breakfast andheadline is going to catch your eye. It’s going to read something like Tadfield village librarian sexually assaulted and murdered; Anthony Crowley arrested.”

“That’s sorta too long for a headline, Gabe...”

“Shut your goddamn face, and listen Sandy. You read the paper. You are shocked and maybe a little sad, and that’s it! And a room full of top brass see it. You following me? And if anyone should think differently. If anyone should check up, not only do you have an airtight alibi, but no one in Tadfield has _EVER_ seen your face. Certainly not seen it making a scene about the same librarian at the goddamn pub! Do you hear me, Sandy? Are you following along now?”

Elijah looked down. “Yeah, Gabe. Fine. I hear you.”

“Great,” Gabe turned over the engine. “Let’s get out of this shit-hole village.

———————•

In London, at her computer, Michael stared at the flashing dot she had placed in Bannerman’s wheel-well.

She typed “Tadfield” + “B. L. Z. Prince” into a search bar.

———————•

Ana did not really consider herself much of a drinker. One or twocould be nice, but she didn’t seem to get the euphoria from more that others did, just a jiddery, stuttery loss of control. The strategy she’d developed, back in her university days, was to forgo the light frothy ales she actually liked and order the darkest, driest, craftiest stout that a venue offered and nurse it. Whenever anyone questioned her choice or her slowness to imbibe, she would start to slightly over loudly declaim about the history of witches brewing beer in caldrons, and the role of tall pointed hats and brooms in beer advertising. It almost always worked, and if it didn’t, a brief foray into witch-trials did the trick.

Currently there were three empty boutique stout bottles in front of her. She’d actually sort of forgotten what ales tasted like. 

Newt ordered whatever Crowley did on occasions like this, and should anyone question what he liked about that particular brew, he would pause, and whatever the beer in question, he would declare he enjoyed the amount of hops in it. 

If Crowley had a method for selecting his choice, Ana didn’t know it. Perhaps he just ordered what he wanted.

“And what are you drinking, Angel?” Crowley asked, slouched artfully, his hand propping up his chin, a gentle smile and a tone that suggested nothing could interest him more.

“Oh, um... apple cider,” Ari confessed.

Crowley sighed serenely. “Oh, you are killing me, Angel. I might actually die.”

Ari’s mouth twitched, as if he couldn’t quite form a reply and his cheeks flushed a soft pink.

Crowley made a strange noise in his throat.

“Time of death 18:48,” Ana whispered to Newt, who promptly started to cough.

The quiz started at seven, and contrary to Ana’s expectation, they acquitted themselves with a respectable fourth place. There was, indeed, a Greek mythology round and an English literature round for Ari, a surprising human anatomy round for Ana, and Crowley and Newt, between them, managed enough of the rest that the evening was not a humiliation.

The weather was too dark and cold for the beer garden, so the place remained quite full, even after the quiz concluded. But, somehow, without even seeming to try, and certainly without throwing elbows, Crowley acquired them a cozy corner booth, with a faux-Tudor leadlight window, and everything.

“How do you _DO_ that?” Ana muttered, kinda sorta intending to sit next to Ari, but finding herself cuddling up cozily against her husband instead.

Crowley just shrugged, and pushed his sunglasses back up is nose.

They autopsied their pub-quiz missteps for a surprisingly long time, even going so far as to use Google, on Crowley’s phone, to determine that pop-sensation Katy Allen was a figment of their pop-culture-ignorant collective imagination.

“No I’m certain, she exists,” Ari implored, desperately. “She sings that song about the pony!”

“What song?”

Ari sang a few bars, off key, and Crowley googled the lyrics he managed to extract from the performance, and smiled delightedly at the results.

“Nope! I’m sorry Angel, but that song was by Kacey Chambers, and it came out in 2005.”

Ari sighed. “Oh. I’m so hopeless. And old!”

“Nonsense,” Crowley replied. “You are eccentric. And gorgeous. Like a perfectly aged cheese...”

Ana took a moment to glare at Crowley, pointedly. She was about to double-down on her glare, as Crowley had apparently been inching closer to Ari all night. But then she realised that, _no_! Crowley was artfully draped against the wall, as he had been the whole time. _Ari_ must have been inching closer to _him_.

“Finally aged...no... Finely angel Wine! No!” Crowley clarified. “Finely. Aged. Wine!”

His gazewas searching Ari’s face, and seemed to become stuck on Ari’s lips. Watched as they twitched purposelessly, while trying to form a reply. Watched, as they finally managed to form words.

“Actually, I really very much like cheese. Very much.”

Ana groaned and whispered in her husband’s ear. “Oh god. It’s _happening,_ isn’t it?”

Newt was smiling like sunshine, and Ana groaned louder.

“You’re _FOR_ this, aren’t you?” She was still whispering, but she rather suspected she could be using a bullhorn, for all Ari or Crowley were listening to her.

Newt nodded. “I am indeed. I am, as the kids say, Team This. I’m considering downloading Twitter so I can hashtag _This_.”

“The Kids that say ‘Team Whatever’ have grown up and half of them have mortgages now, Newt. And, Twitter is over...”

Newt pouted. _Stupid adorable pout_. “Oh no! Did I miss Twitter? What’s the new thing?”

Ana sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Something to do with clocks. Or, maybe, still Instagram? Hang on, I’ll ask a child. Hey Anthony! _Anthony_! Earth to Anthony!?!”

Anthony swung his head towards her, somehow snake-like. “Yeah? What?”

“Is Instagram still the thing? And also. I want chips. Do you want chips?”

Anthony blinked. “No. Instagram is not the thing... and let me check... yep. Still have a pulse, so yes, I want chips.”

“Oh yum! Pub chips!” Ari chirped excitedly, bouncing in his seat.

Anthony’s spine seemed to temporarily give way.

Later, when it was time to leave, they all suddenly realised that Newt had only had a single beer all night, and so he drove them back to Tadfield Manor.

“You c’n all sstay if you want,” Crowley declared, slightly sibilantly. 

“Boss, it’s literally a three minute drive,” Newt said, not unkindly, patting him on the back, before walking off to retrieve his own car.

Crowley slid back over to Ari, and Ana decided she wasn’t so much eavesdropping, as just _standing_ there. Standing, with maybe a _smidge_ of big-sistering.

“All right, Angel?” Crowley began “Ssuitably ccelebrated?”

“Yes, indeed. Lovely evening, thank you.” Ari began and then, more hesitantly. “I think, maybe there was even a handsome man flirting with me all evening.”

“Issthat right?” Crowley asked, sidling. “And here I thought I was being ssubtle.”

“And,” Ari continued. “And I liked it.”

“Oh, you did?”

Ari nodded. “I did. I’m not _sure_ I’m ready for... not sure _WHAT_ I’m ready for... and I couldn’t ask... but, I _like_ flirting. With you. I’m ready for flirting. With you.”

Crowley’s throat made a noise the rest of him did not appear willing to make a commitment too. “I like flirting, too. Flirting with you. And I can go slow. Tortoise sslow. Ssloth slow.”

Ari smiled. “I think that would be... nice.”

Newt pulled around. 

Ari began moving toward Newt’s car, but hesitantly. 

“Newt in a school-zone slow,” Crowley added. “Glacially slow. Glacier-in-global-warming slow.”

Ari paused with his hand on the door handle and turned around. “I’m not sure you need to go that far, dear. It’s not like I want to inspire you to _shrink_.”

Ana caught Crowley’s gaze, and her eyebrows took the opportunity of Crowley’s shock to win the eyebrow war, forever.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a tough chapter today.
> 
> Content advisory: rape (not graphic) , a misogynist slur, shame/self blame, description of past injuries, brief reference past fatal MVA, reference to child death, borderline disordered eating, Bertha Mason from Jane Eyre mentioned, Gabriel generally

It would be _thoroughly_ embarrassing to admit oneself hung over, after only consuming three apple ciders the previous evening, and so Ari decided that he was _not_ hung over, after all. Now, all he needed was a different excuse to borrow some paracetamol. 

He refolded all his clothes from the previous evening (having done a rather shoddy job it) and noticed the letter of offer in his jacket breast pocket. The mere sight of it brought back the euphoria of the previous day. He’d somehow got a dream job, gone out with friends, flirted with...

Annoyed mewing interrupted him. 

“Oh very well,” he sighed. “I’m coming.”

He took a moment to quickly tuck the letter inside the front cover of his precious, broken first edition. “I’m going to get you repaired,” he murmured. “I’ve got a _proper_ job, now. And it’s time to get you repaired.”

Mewing turned to howls of indignation.

“Oh yes, sorry my dears, quite right,” Ari apologised to the furious kittens. “First things first.”

Despite his apology, the smaller of the two decided to execute him anyway, throwing its tiny self at his ankle, and biting his pyjamas, furiously.

“Now, now,” Ari sighed. “That can’t _help_ but slow me down. You are just being counterproductive now. Do you want breakfast, or not?”

Apparently the larger kitten _did_ want breakfast, because it pounced on its sibling, pulling it off Ari’s leg, and they tumbled over the floor together. 

Ari was only very slightly injured by this, and was freed long enough to get the door open, at which point the kittens scrambled over each other to race out the door, in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Ana,” he said. And “Oh, thank you!” as she pressed a large glass of water into his hand, and then turned to feed the kittens. “I don’t mind doing that...”

Ana shrugged. “It’s no trouble. I open a tin, I put it on a plate. They are much less trouble to feed than they used to be. Have you cracked, and named them, yet?”

“Oh Ana, dear, _don’t_. It’s going to be hard enough to give them up in a few weeks...”

Ana sipped some coffee.” Do you _want_ to give them up? Drink your water...”

“It hardly matters if I want to. I’ve never had pets before. Elijah doesn’t...”

_ Elijah didn’t like pets. Thought they were stupid. But Elijah wasn’t here... _

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” Ari admitted. “I... could I?”

“Of course you could,” Ana answered not looking up from the news feed on her phone. “You get to choose.”

Ari blinked. “I hadn’t really _thought_...” he could only repeat, feeling vaguely stupid. 

_ I get to choose. I get to choose things.  _

“I... I don’t know...”

The kittens finished scoffing their food, and fell asleep, comically promptly. 

Ana snapped a photo of them, but, just as she set her phone down, it started to ring. “Ugh...life of a country doctor... why did I ever... oh no, wait, it’s just Anthony, _you_ talk to him.”

She tossed him the phone. 

“Me..? but...”

Ana sighed. “Two possibilities. One, he’s injured himself and if that’s the case, he’ll want me to have had my coffee. Two, he _actually_ wants to talk to _you_ , and we are just saving time.” She took a loooong sip of coffee.

Ari answered the call. “Hello?”

“ _Good morning, Angel_!”

Crowley sounded so incredibly happy to talk to him, a lump formed in his throat almost instantly, and his tongue turned to sandpaper.

_ Say something! _

“Erm....”

_ Say something! _

“Ahhh, Ana is drinking her coffee,” he managed at last.

_ Or, you know, Good morning. Could have gone with that! _

“That’s okay,” Crowley replied 

\- _and honestly, how does a man SOUND like honey?_ Ari wondered. _How should that be possible?-_

“... I actually wanted to speak to you, anyway.”

“Oh?” Ari asked hesitantly. “That’s lovely, but... why?”

“ _Oh, dozens of reasons. Hundreds. Few pleasures in life greater than talking to you,_ ” Crowley replied easily. “ _But specifically, because I have to go to London this evening._ ”

“Oh, I knew that!” Ari put in. “Newt’s driving you!”

_ Well... at least you are saying words... _

“ _He is, indeed_ ,” Crowley agreed. “ _But, I called to see if you wanted anything. Not that Tadfield doesn’t have its splendours,but London is London, and I thought you might miss, I don’t know... a favourite pastry? Need more supplies from your favourite pocket-square boutique? Key chain from the Royal Opera Gift Shop?_ ”

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful...” Ari gushed. He couldn’t actually think of anything he missed overly much, except for the ducks, and Crowley couldn’t possibly....

.... well maybe he _could_ , actually. But, it wouldn’t be fair on the ducks.

“Ask him to get you your own phone!” Ana suggested, loudly, from the other side of the table. 

Crowley guffawed. “ _Do you have me on speaker, Angel?! That’s so savage.._.”

“Oh dear, _maybe_? Not on purpose?” Ari answered staring hopelessly at the phone’s display. “How does one tell?”

Crowley laughed.  


Laughed - _like honey_ -! 

“ _Oh, don’t worry, Angel. Ana is in charge of all the STD tests in Tadfield, I doubt we’ll shock her. So, anything? Royal mint shot glasses? One of those teddy bears in the beef-eater hats?_ ”

“No, thank you. But I very much appreciate the thought. “

“ _Not too quick, then? I’m not exceeding any Glacial speed limits?”_

Ari smiled. “No. Just perfect, thank you.”

“ _You know, I was thinking, Ari, about this library business. I’ve got like a bunch of old books up here at the Manor. I thought you might like to come up and see if any of it is worth donating. To your library._ ”

“You want me to come to your house?”

“ _Only to steal books_ ,” Crowley reassured. “ _No funny business. Glacial, me, remember? Tomorrow? Lunch time?_ ”

“I um.... Yes.”

“ _Yes?”_

“Yes, please.”

“ _See you then, then!_ ”

Ari exhaled, and carefully handed Ana back her phone.

“You okay?” She asked.

“ _Of course!_ ” Ari replied. “Why wouldn’t i be? I’m going to look at books. For the library....”

Ana smiled. “Because you are the librarian!”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Ana nodded at the kitchen floor over his shoulder “Kittens are awake again.”

Ari sighed. “But we just fed them.”

“Guess they want another breakfast.”

“I guess they do...” Ari murmured. And then,“Merry and Pippin!.”

Ana nodded. “That sounds about right.” She returned to reading her news feed.

Ari watched the kittens for a moment. 

_I get to choose._

•——————-•

Crowley was _bored_. A toffy Christmas party, with toffs, was exactly as excruciating as it sounded, so Crowley was occupying a corner, toff-watching, and hoping no one would talk to him.

He groaned internally, then, when he saw a tall woman, in maybe her late twenties, making a bee-line for him. But then, he got a better look at her. She stood out, and in a slightly awkward way, there was nothing ostensibly wrong, nothing obvious, but her hair was just a _little_ too big, her heels a _smidgeon_ too high, her nails shaped _just a tiny bit_ too squarely. 

Crowley felt a strong pang of sympathy. Her appearance singled her out, in a million tiny, subtle ways, and probably no-one, in this great sea of turned up noses, would be willing to talk to her. 

It couldn’t hurt to be kind.

“Hi there,” he said as brightly as he could. “I’m Anthony. Ghastly party, isn’t it?”

“Oh, the worst!” she agreed, unhappily, drinking her martini through the stirring straw.

“What happened? Fancy boyfriend brought you, but now he’s off drinking with his fancy mates, and left you with no one to talk to?”

The woman nodded, sadly. “I met him when he came into my hair salon, and he’s so sweet by himself, but when we’re around his friends he acts like I’m all embarrassing. I was really, really, looking forward to tonight. Even got my nails done special! See?”

There were, indeed, snowflakes painted on her nails in Christmas colours with a little crystal diamanté in the middle of each. They were ghastly.

“Those are _lovely_ ,” Crowley replied, aloud.

“I’m Amber, by the way.” 

_ Oh Amber. Amber, run away. There might be diamonds for you in this ballroom, but I promise you there’s no happiness. _

“Pleasure to meet you, Amber.” Crowley replied aloud.

She smiled. “Can we get another drink, Anthony?” 

“I do not see the harm,” Crowley replied, although, technically, he hadn’t even had a first.

He lost track of Amber for a moment, but then she was back, handing him a long-stemmed champagne flute.

He sipped absently, while Amber talked about hair and... scissors? Is that what she was saying? The champagne was getting to him.

Fast.

Too _fast_.

“I think I should eat something,” he murmured softly to her, but, suddenly, crossing the room unaided seemed impossible.

Because the room was dark. And too bright. And also spinning. And maybe underwater.

He was _being_ aided. Walking... somewhere. It was so dreadfully hard to think. 

“I’m sorry,” he thought he heard her say.

•——————-•

The streetwalker was stomping towards him, looking cross.

Gabe smirked. “Have a good time, sunshine? Actually, don’t answer that, because I don’t care. Did you get what I asked for?”

The girl reluctantly held out the small lunch bag. A quick glance inside confirmed that she’d followed instructions. Even remembered the ice pack. 

“He seemed nice,” she pouted. “You said he was a bad guy.” 

Gabe glared at her. “You’re a _whore_ , madam. You don’t get to judge me.”

“But you’ll hold up your end,” Amber pressed. “Make that arrest report go away? And the drug test? I’ll lose my kids, otherwise.”

He shrugged. “Sure, why not? No skin off my nose if your kids end up coke-whores, too.”

“I work in the supermarket,” Amber murmured. “I just don’t make enough to...”

Gabe held up a hand, and Amber scrambled backwards. That was better.

“I don’t care about your shitty life, Amber,” he reminded her, and then walked away.

  
•——————-•

There was humming. He could see a mini fridge.Was it the mini fridge humming?

No.

Distant vacuum cleaner.

Where the actual fuck was he?  


He slowly sat up.

Why the actual fuck was he naked?

On the bright side, at least he was in a bed. Not _his_ bed. But _a_ bed. A bed in what was clearly a hotel.

_ Small mercies. _

His mouth tasted like tar. He dimly remembered that he’d decided he wasn’t going to drink the previous evening. But then... champagne?

_Amber_...

“But...” he protested hopelessly. “But I wasn’t going to...”Reality failed to listen to reason.

He got slowly to his feet, which made him gag with nausea, which, in turn, buried a sharp blade of pain squarely into his brain.

His clothes were scattered around the floor. He could not spot anyone else’s. The bathroom was empty.

Whatever had happened with Amber, he was alone now.

_ Small mercies. _

Right up until the moment his phone buzzed, he had sort of assumed Amber had stolen it.

Staring at the phone screen delivered three blows in rapid succession.

  1. It was 11:28am, 
  2. Newt had called him 29 times 
  3. His lock screen was a photos of black and white kittens.



_Ari..._

He sank to the floor. 

Sank... _too hard_.

Threw up.

When the retching stopped, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and he called Newt.

Newt answered on the second ring. “ _Boss! You okay? Where are you_?”

“Hotel room,” Crowley muttered, and reached for the stationary pad on the end table. Same damn hotel the stupid party had been in. “Upstairs. Don’t know the room number. Hang on...”

He stumbled to the door, every footfall jarring his brain into the top of his skull. He poked his head out just long enough to see the number printed on the door.

“702” he managed to say, sliding down the wall to the floor again.

He _meant_ to shut the door, _meant_ to clean up, have a shower, get dressed, but apparently, he’d done none of those things, because, next he knew, he was being propped up on Newt’s shoulder and mostly carried into the bathroom.

Crowley forced himself to meet Newt’s eyes. 

“You never came out of the party,” Newt said, very softly.“Then, I couldn’t find anyone who had seen you, for hours, who knew where you might have gone. I tried calling...”

Crowley swallowed, and his mouth tasted so bad that he regretted it immediately. “I... shower please?”

Newt looked troubled. “Tell me what happened first.”

Crowley shrugged. “S’obvious, isn’t it? Look around. Spoiled, aged, party-boy overdoes it on drugs, both foreign and domestic; fucks _at least_ one random. Tale as old as time.”

Newts brow furrowed further. “ _Is_ that what happened?”

“I dunno. I mean, _probably_? I don’t know.”

“Something doesn’t seem right about this ,” Newt mused, unhappily. 

Crowley laughed bitterly. “You should try it from my end. I didn’t want to...I wasn’t going to even drink, but look at me! I don’t even remember deciding to...”

“To what?” Newt prodded gently. “What do you actually remember?”

“Nothing,” Crowley replied softly. Then _harshly_. “Nothing. I won’t have you judging me. Either help me get up, or fuck off until I’m ready.”

Newt’s shoulders stiffened, but his voice stayed soft. “All right. I’ll help you up, and then I’m going to call home, let them know I found you...”

“Already called to dob me in, did you?” Crowley spat, part of him appalled with himself before the words were even out.

_What are you even saying? STOP!_

“I did have to call _my wife_ , and say I wasn’t going to be home yesterday night, as expected,”Newt answered, his voice now audibly stiffer.

“Yeah, cause you did. _Sorry_.”

He threw up eight more times in the shower. By the time he got out, Newt was no longer in the room, but his clothes had been picked up, brushed flat, and laid out on the bed, his sunglasses located, and set on the top of the pile.

He dressed slowly, and then slunk down to meet Newt in the lobby. Newt had coffee and a pastry for him. Crowley turned up his nose. There had been _far too much_ vomiting. From now on, food and coffee were things that happened to other people. 

The drive back to Tadfield was almost silent.

•——————-•

Ari knocked, extremely timidly, on the door. There was no answer, but then, he hadn’t really made a noise that one could expect human ears to hear. Also, Tadfield Manor was quite large, and, although he’d tried to carefully memorise Newt’s instructions, he was fully aware he might be tentatively knocking on the door of a linen press.

Only one way to find out.

He knocked properly this time...

... and got an answer. “Yes, Newt! Fine! Come in! That way, I can fire you to your... oh, it’s you...Well, _THAT’s_ not fair. I’ve been out maneuvered. By _Newt_!”

The part of Crowley’s face not covered with glasses looked drawn and ashen.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t fire him, then?” Ari replied lightly, inching into the room. To be honest, he was ALSO profoundly unsure he should be here. Surely, he was exactly the _wrong_ person. But, Newt asked him to, and Ari would probably dive in front of a medium-sized truck for Newt, at this point.

“No, I suppose I shouldn’t fire him,” Crowley quipped back, although his heart wasn’t in it. “Turns out, the man’s the Sun Tzu of dealing with drug-ridden play-boys. Unless of course, he didn’t send you, and you are here because we had an appointment for you to look at the books...”

Ari hesitated. “Well, that appointment was for yesterday...”

“Oh yeah. Cause it was. You must be furious with me.”

“Because you couldn’t make an appointment to donate free books to the library?” Ari blinked. “You can’t think I’m _THAT_ heartless..”

“No! Because.. well? We _talked_ didn’t we? Finally talked _properly_?! Well... you know... by our standards... _proper_ people might not count that as talking properly, but... there was a thing. And then, the very next night, I... pull this.”

“I’m not angry,” Ari replied gently, taking another step forward. “You haven’t even told me what happened yet.”

Crowley laughed bitterly. “Just how many of the tawdry details do you want, Angel? I told you what happened. I... well, made a pass at you, anyway, and I then went and got black-out shit-faced, on who knows what, the very next night, and woke up naked in a hotel room...”

He trailed off...

“Well,” Ari began, softly. “We aren’t anything _official_ , and you never promised me anything...”

“Oh, your one of _those_ , are you?” Crowley cut him off, harshly. “Elijah cheat, did he?”

Ari sighed. “Well, yes, actually, quite a bit, but that’s hardly relevant, dear. Look, we’ve gotten off track. Newt is worried about you, and based on what he said, I am as well. He said you were...”

Here, Ari hesitated. The words Newt had actually used to describe Crowley’s state of mind seemed far too incendiary to throw into such a fragile conversation, so he bowdlerised all the way back to “He said you were... _very distressed..._ when he found you.”

“Yeah, I was...” Crowley admitted softly, he lowered his head and his sunglasses slid, just a little, down his nose, but then his head snapped up, and he furiously pushed them back. “Is _that_ why you are here? The scars? Newt must have got a good look, l imagine, cause he found me in the kip. So what, he told you about the scars, and you feel so sorry for me, you scurry straight up here? Is your life coach _actually_ Jane Eyre?”

Ari stomach dropped, he thought he’d been making progress, but now he was completely lost. “Scars... what? Newt didn’t mention.. what?”

Crowley sighed. “Ahh, might have played myself there, then. Suppose you were going to find out sometime. Car accident, years ago. Not my fault, contrary to all investigatory expectations. People died. Including a kid. Fire, burns, scars... _yadda yadda_. Can hide it all with normal clothing, but, I’m not quite the super-model Adonis that one might expect, under all the leather.”

“Oh.” Ari’s heart ached for him. “Thank you for telling me. And, I’m so sorry, because it must have been awful, and hurt so much. But, I can’t imagine finding you anything but devastatingly attractive, however many scars you have.”

“Yeah, well.. you haven’t seen...”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to show me, yet. Because, if you don’t trust me not to be awful about it, then I haven’t earned the right yet, have I?” Ari interrupted firmly. “But, I quite insist on telling you, I’m not angry with you, not at all. And I don’t pity you. I desire you.”

Crowley shuddered. “Oh. Oh, you should run, Angel. You should definitely _fear to tread_.”

“No, thank you,” Ari replied. “I don’t know that I’ll rush in, we talked about that. That’s my speed limit. But I will slink in. While whistling. Nonchalantly. Pretending to admire the wainscoting. While you aren’t paying attention.”

Crowley snorted. 

It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it buoyed Ari’s heart. Maybe he could do this, maybe he could help, after all. “A few scars under your leather jacket will not put me off. Locking a woman in your attic _would_ though, because I’m _not_ Jane Eyre, thank you very much. But, short of that...Now, please, are you willing to tell me what happened to you the other night?”

_“Willing_ , because you are entitled, Angel, but not _able_... I... I can’t remember.”

Ari felt pressure in his chest “I don’t agree about the entitled part, but, what do you mean you can’t remember? What _do_ you remember? Could someone have slipped you something?”

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t need to a _memory_ to know what happened was my fault, Ari. I have _form_. It’s what I am. Can’t change it. But, I really didn’t mean to fuck a stranger at a party. I meant to have an early night, and sweep you off your feet with lunch and old books.”

Ari smiled. “I know. Newt told me you talked about it all the way to London. But Crowley dear, even if he hadn’t, I’d still know, because you told me, when you invited me. I’ve never known you not to keep your word, if you could help it. And so, I’m not going to be mad at you l, whatever you say. For the record, my personal theory is that sometime horrible happened to you. But I’m _not_ going to push any more. I _am_ going to go find food and make you eat, though. Not going to _cook_ mind, because that personal chef of yours is incredibly intimidating. But, I’m going to go downstairs and find, I don’t know, crackers and cheese... and strawberries. And I’m going to make you eat them.”

Crowley shook his head. “God no, Angel, no food, couldn’t possibly. Exactly what is your plan for making me eat?”

“I was thinking of shooting puppy-dog eyes at you?”

“What? With a sling-shot?”

“No! Like this!” Ari said employing the most over-the-top, wide-eyed expression in his arsenal.

“Ahh,” Crowley replied. “Well, yes. That there? That is my kryptonite.”

Ari found cheese and strawberries, and they ate them together. And when Crowley crushed a strawberry in his hand, sniffling, Ari ran his fingers softly over the closed fist....Hesitantly, seekingly....Crowley’s skin felt like sunlight, and he didn’t recoil from Ari’s touch.

They locked eyes from a moment, over the silver rim of Crowley’s perennial sunglasses, and Crowley’s eyes were sad, moist and golden, and Ari poured all the concern welling into his heart, into his own, and somehow, between them something unsayable was said.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: Graphic violence

As it turned out, Tadfield Manor had a lot of books. There was a main library, an ample book shelf in the study, a reading room, and even a room with piles of volumes which Crowley called the storage room, but Ari dubbed the annex. Ari was determined to stretch his library budget as far as possible, so he was carefully cataloguing a wishlist. This meant he spent a lot of time at the Manor as the year turned.  


For the books.

Crowley was both a tremendous help, and an incorrigible hindrance.  


He would happily reach the higher shelves for him, 

.....and then callously sit on a paperback while Ari searched for twenty minutes. 

He’d bring delicious sandwiches,

......but then start yelling out random numbers when Ari was in the middle of counting periodicals.

He’d laughed for twenty minutes when he caught Ari using a ruler to figure out if a book could count as large print- for the older folks-

....but he’d also hugged Ari for closer to forty five minutes, when finding no fewer than three first editions of Watership Down in an old box had made Ari cry- but refuse to explain why.

And, very rarely, Crowley would turn silent and hollow-eyed, staring out a window. Ari would look on miserably and pray, to any and every deity he could think of, that the teasing would start again.

When January 15th started, it seemed like it was going to be a _good_ day.

“Raven threatened to cook Pippen again,” Crowley called happily, entering the study where Ari was working. “Even put some pastry around him! Look, I took a picture.”

Ari checked the picture. It was indeed Pippen, temporarily embarrassed within a pastry case, looking utterly murderous and no doubt plotting his revenge against the chef, now a life-long enemy. “I suspect that chefs rather liked cats back before there were mouse traps... still, Pippin doesn’t look too traumatized does he? Is that... butter on his whiskers?”

“Apparently, he’s a tricksy hobbit,” Crowley  replied seriously.

Ari smiled. “Send it to Ana? Maybe she’ll print it out for me. What’s it like outside? Snowing yet?”

“Nah... it’s a beautiful day, actually. I was hoping I might tempt you with a walk?”

“Oh, not today, I’m afraid, my dear,” Ari replied, deeply regretful, because a walk _did_ sound lovely. “I’m so behind, and I really must get these horticulture books catalogued, otherwise I can’t figure out the audiobook budget.”

Crowley nodded. “I get it, I get it. Dewey calls. Get it? Like the decimal system? Instead of duty? Get it?”

“Yes, I did,” Ari replied sternly. “But librarians never joke about Dewey. It’s forbidden. I swore a sacred oath.”

“Really?”

Ari rolled his eyes. “No, of course not! Go on your ramble, my dear, and see if you can catch up with your brains, cause they seem to have left already!”

Crowley smiled, left with a mock salute, and Ari settled in. 

It only seemed like ten minutes before he heard Crowley behind him again.“That was quick!”

“ Not quick enough for my taste,” said the wrong voice.

A handcuff slipped around Ari’s wrist. He looked up into Gabriel Bannerman’s hate-filled purple eyes, and then a plastic bag was forced over his head, and pulled tight around his neck.

•—————-•

In London, Michael glared at her computer screen, tapping a pen furiously. 

_Again?! No, no way was that a coincidence._  


B had fucking _LIED_ to her.

She picked up her phone and called them.

_ “Yeah, Michael? What?!” _

“You can drop the act. Your mystery client is Anthony Crowley and I know he involved,” Michael hissed.

B chuckled. “ _He’s really not, you know. I’d stake my house on it.”_

“Then, it looks like I own a place in fucking Piccadilly!” Michael snapped. “If he’s not involved, how come Bannerman’s in Tadfield, AGAIN? Honestly B, you’ve put me in an untenable position and...”

“What th _e fuck are you talking about, Michael_?”

“He went up in December, and he’s up there again. Think I don’t know your playboy client lives up there? You can forget about a deal.. if you’d just told the truth...”

“ _Bannerman is in Tadfield right now?_ ”

“Yes! B would you...”

“ _Sorry Michael, gotta go. Life and Death._ ”

B hung up. 

Michael swore.

_Fuck this shit, and fuck B AND her client_. 

She was going up there now. 

•———————•

Gabe had secreted himself in the grounds of Tadfield Manor before dawn, with a good view of the house. It had seemed a lucky strike of fortune that the city-mouse had so regularly been spending time at Crowley’s manor. So much so, that Gabe strongly considered staging the murder scene at the house instead. He’d _really_ point the proverbial finger then. 

But he was smart enough to know that last minute changes can ruin careful plans. The DNA Amber had collected, the circumstantial evidence, and Gabe’s word as a police officer that he found Crowley standing over the body, would have to be enough.

City-mouse arrived, as expected, with the tall driver, whose name Gabe had uncovered, but which now escaped him.Gabe decided Expendable Jones was as good a nickname as any.

There were then, by his count, four people on the property. Crowley, city-mouse, old Expendable, and the chef.None of them were much of a physical threat, but the chef was due to leave in an hour or so. No point taking on four when three would do.

When the chef _did_ finally leave, Gabe pulled out Ari’s old phone, recovered from the punk kid in Holburn, months ago, and turned it on.  


He then sent a frantic text, fearful of Crowley, to Elijah (ping! went Elijah’s phone, placing him at the conference in Plymouth). 

In Plymouth, Elijah would receive that text and then send a frantic text to Gabe’s phone (ping! went Gabe’s phone placing HIM in his flat in London), and Elijah would then send a worried text back to Ari’s phone, telling him Gabe was on his way. (Ping! Went Ari’s phone in Gabe’s hand- starting the clock).

Then, miracle of miracles, Crowley went for a walk. If that wasn’t proof that fate was on Gabe’s side, then he didn’t know what was. Now Gabe wouldn’t even have to grab city-mouse quietly from under Crowley’s nose.

So first, the driver.

Ol’ Expendable was in the garage, taking a break from polishing an already obnoxiously shiny Range Rover, to have a cup of tea.  


  
Gabe came up behind him, grabbed a heavy spanner from the tool bench, and slammed it full force into his larynx. Old Expendable never saw it coming. 

Just him and city-mouse now.

Gabe planted a packet of the same brand of plastic bags he had in his pocket in the kitchen and crept upstairs.

It was almost too easy, not that he’d expected much of a fight from city-mouse. The fool had mistaken him for Crowley, until it was far too late.

Gabe fixed the bag around city-mouse’s head, with a precut piece of duct tape. He let city-mouse almost pass out, scratching uselessly at the outside of the bag with his uncuffed hand. Then, when city-mouse began to tire and slump, Gabe cut a hole in the back of the bag, Gabe cuffed the other wrist, pressed city- mouse firmly into the chair he was seated, and cupped mousey’s chin with a gloved hand, waiting for his eyes to focus.

“Time for a change of venue, sweetheart,” Gabe told Ari, still squeezing his chin. “Now, you listening? I’ve made a hole in the bag, but not a big one. If you don’t fight, don’t try to run, don’t try to scream, I reckon you’ll stay conscious, but if you do? You’ll end up blocking it or you’ll use too much oxygen. And you’ll die. You understand? Nod if you understand.”

After a few seconds, Gabe saw Ari nod limply. 

“Okay good. Now, garage. Range Rover. Let’s go.”

And city-mouse was a _good_ mouse. He only tried to break away once, when he saw ol’ Expendable Jones face down on the garage floor.

Even then, Gabe suspected he was only struggling to try to get to him, struggling to help.

“He’s dead,stupid,” Gabe said, although he had no idea whether that was true. All that mattered for the plan was the that Expendable Jones hadn’t seen Gabe. Otherwise he didn’t matter.

After that little moment, city-mouse seemed to give up entirely. He was a _broken_ mouse.  


“But _you_.. oh no. You don’t get to die yet, sunshine,” Gabe cooed as Ari’s tear-filled, fuzzy eyes finally focused on his face. “I’m not done with you, yet. Speaking of which...” Gabe glanced around the tool racks and quickly selected a caulking gun, and grabbed a nearby tow rope just in case.

When Gabe threw Ari himself into the back foot well of the Rover, and taped his neck around a seat support, Ari barely struggled. His breathing inside the bag made a weird sucking/ hissing sound and his chest was heaving.  


Poor little city mouse was completely at Gabe’s mercy and wouldn’t live to sundown and, better yet, he knew it.   


Gabe took a deep breath of country air. He felt _amazing_. Powerful, sexy, and _alive_.

  
Gabe climbed into the driver’s seat, turned over the engine and set off to the murder scene.

•—————-•

Crowley strode quickly through the crisp and chilly winter morning. The...set back? ...relapse? before Christmas still bothered him, yes...

but... 

it was getting better. He told himself. Firmly. _You feel better_.   


Contrary to all expectations, Ari, and even Newt, had forgiven his ...indiscretion... almost instantly, stubbornly refusing to fill in the blanks in Crowley’s memory with what had _obviously_ happened. Instead they shoveling benefit of the doubt at him with the frenetic energy of a pair of steam train engineers.

_ Poor gullible, angelic idiots. _

He’d tried to make up for it, properly, at Christmas, but they’d both seemed more embarrassed than anything, indeed almost sad, about the piles of gifts. Crowley supposed, in retrospect, the gifts he’d chosen, were more _extravagant_ than they were _thoughtful_.

Crowley spotted a figure in the distance and turned up his nose. Shadwell, rambling on his land.

Urgh. Bloody ‘ _right to roam_ ’ his arse.

Then, inspiration struck. “Oi Shadwell! Shadwell!” Crowley called. Jogging up to meet him.

“Right to roam, Crowley!” Shadwell growled by way of greeting.

“I have a bloody hedge! That’s _enclosed_!” Crowley insisted, before remembering he wanted a favour. “Never mind, though. Roam all you like. Tell me, how is your cow?”

“Which bloody cow? I’m a bloody dairy farmer, you stupid suburban arse-wipe.”

Crowley forced himself to smile. “The strange one that always stands by the road! I see her all the time.”

“Ahh, _that_ cow. Stupid, ornery, old thing. I’ve only kept her cause she’s in calf and it might be a heifer. Was a good milker once, that cow. She’ll be culled when the calf drops.”

“Oh good, we can help each other,” Crowley replied brightly. “Sell me the cow!”

Shadwell frowned suspiciously. “Sell her to you? Why?”

“So I can get the milk for free,” Crowley said, because sometimes, the universe demanded such things.

“Should get a younger cow if yah want ya raw hipster milk, ya mush brained hippy.”

“Nope. Has to be _exactly_ that cow. Come on. I’ll pay what she’s worth.”

Shadwell scoffed. “And what do you know about what cows are worth?” 

Shadwell sort of had Crowley there. He did a quick calculation based on the price of filet mignon and his best guess of what cows weighed. “Erm, 80,000 pounds?”

“Goddamn city dwellers,” Shadwell replied shaking his head. “Food could grow on supermarket shelves for all you lot know. I’ll take 4,000 pounds for her and I’m ripping you off with that.”

“Yeah fine,” Crowley replied pleased. “I’ll Venmo you. Could you drop her up in the field for me? Do you have one of those cow float thingies?”

He was being annoying _on purpose_ now.

Shadwell opened his mouth to insult him again, but then frowned into the distance. “Isn’t that your Range Rover?”

Crowley followed his line of sight. “Yeah, actually. That’s weird. Newt must have gone into town for something. Anyway Mr Shadwell, pleasure doing business with you.”

He tipped his imaginary hat, stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered off, certain that the cow would light up Ari’s eyes in a way that piles of Christmas presents hadn’t managed to. 

By the time he was almost back at the house, he’d developed something of a plan, and decided he was _definitely_ not hiding a cow for month, so he’d need something else for Valentines Day, when his pocket started buzzing.

It was B. 

Guiltily, Crowley sent them to voicemail, resolving to call them back once he’d emailed over whatever paperwork he’d forgotten about. It would be on his desk.

They called again. He dithered, but sent them to voicemail. He’d call when he got to his office and they could help him find the paperwork.

B text messaged.

** Answer your phone, arsehole. Danger, emergency, red flag emoji. **

Crowley, rounding the corner to the house began a text message, roasting them for typing out ‘red flag emoji’, then he dropped his phone.

Newt was lying face down in the open garage.

Crowley ran forward, his phone, forgotten, landed in the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take care out there everybody, and a special thank you to the people still taking the time to leave comments even in times like these. It means so much to me!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tough one, but it gets better from here, I promise.
> 
> Content Advisory: Graphic description of injuries, graphic description of the result of a (past) car accident, violence, rape (I guess mostly non-graphic, but still), near death experience.

“Newt?! Newt?!”

He wasn’t dead, Crowley realised, as he turned him over, but we wasn’t in good shape. Newt was wild-eyed, pale, and gasping for air, each breath whistled, and seemed increasingly weak. Red blood blisters where spreading across his swollen neck, and when Crowley brushed the area gently with his fingers, he felt a strange and terrifying crackling beneath.

“It’s okay, Newt,” Crowley said frantically, patting his jacket for his phone, baffled by his inability to find it. “Ari!” He shouted. “Ari! Newt needs help! Ari?”

Then he remembered seeing the Rover, and realised that if Newt wasn’t driving, it must have been Ari.

“Ari’s gone for help, yeah?” he asked, smiling into Newt’s eyes, hoping against hope he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. 

If Newt even _could_ speak, he didn’t, he just kept gasping helplessly, red tinged flecks and bubbles appearing on his lips.

Crowley’s guts plummeted even further than their current depths.“Oh god, it’s not going to be fast enough, is it? By the time Ari gets Ana, and brings her back?”

There was only one option, then. 

The Bentley.

  
The Bentley has been bought, new, by Crowley’s great-grandfather between the wars, before he went on to perish in the second. His grandfather, then a young teenager, had cherished the car as a reminder of his father. When his own staid and haughty son, Crowley’s father, had refused to show any interest in the car, the old man had delighted in sharing his passion with his grandson. And, in the absence of paternal love, Crowley treasured the time they had spent, tinkering, fussing and laughing with grease-covered hands, right up until the day when...

...but he could not think about that day now. Must think about _anything but_.

Newt needed him to drive, so drive Crowley must.

“Come on, we’ll meet them,” he said, amazed at the steadiness of his own voice.

Crowley staggered under Newts weight, although not as much as he expected to. _Am I one of those mothers lifting a car off a toddler?_ he wondered to himself. _Is that what this is?_

He settled Newt on the back seat in the recovery position. _Why the fuck did Ari leave him face down by the way? Numpty Librarian!_

He grabbed the keys. They all but burned in his hands, but he refused to drop them. Refused to feel his legs burning. Refused to see his grandfather’s head angled unnaturally forward. Refused to see the broken windshield on the other car. The little figure slumped on its bonnet. Refused to hear the woman - Harriet Dowling, her name was Harriet- wailing that inhuman wail. Refused to see the other driver, staggering around, his pupils wide black holes.

_ Don’t think. Just Drive. _

He did. But all the ghosts, the screaming, burning, bleeding, death-eyed ghosts, drove with him.

•——————•

Ana was just pondering the question of why Crowley’s lawyer would not stop calling her, when the man, himself, burst into her office, tears streaming down his face, hollering her name.  


  
And, he was half-dragging and half-carrying her severelydyspnoic husband.

“What happened?” She found herself screaming. “ ** _What did you do_**?”

She pushed Crowley into her treatment room, where she kept her supplemental oxygen, twisted on the cylinder and pressed the mask to Newt’s face. His eyes focused on her, and softened. His breathing improved, but not enough.

“ _What did you DO_?” she screamed at Crowley, again.

“I found him like this,” Crowley gasped out, pale as a sheet. “I drove him here straight away!”

“Not before calling your lawyer though, right?” Ana snarled. Newt still wasn’t picking up. She scrambled for her pulse oximeter.

  
Crowley looked at her with wild, uncomprehending eyes. “Ari...”

“No! Don’t even _think_ of blaming Ari! Ari would never hurt Newt. No, some goon you owe money to did this, didn’t he?! I think he’s got a fractured larynx! If I can’t get him an airway, he’ll...”

“No, Ari should be here already,” Crowley said looking around frantically. Then he seemed to focus, “Wait, somebody hurt Newt? This isn’t a panic attack or asthma or something?!”

“No! Someone tried to kill him!”

Crowley’s eyes were slowly widening. “I don’t understand, what’s ... who was in my car? I thought it was Ari. I just left... I have to go back.”

“Fine,” Ana all but screamed. “I don’t care what you do! Deirdre, I think I have to intubate. Or maybe do a trach. Find a size six tube, and help me!”

When Ana looked up again Crowley was gone.

Her phone kept buzzing, unheeded.

•——————-•

Ari lay on the forest floor, trying not to think about what Gabriel was doing with his body.

It wasn’t like he was going to have to live with it. 

Gabriel had made his intention perfectly clear.

  
So, instead of the pain and the humiliation, he sought to think about something else, _anything else_.

But, when his mind finally decided to cooperate, it somehow only made things worse. All it brought to mind was the thought of Ana’s face when someone told her about Newt. Would Crowley do it? A police officer?

And, how much worse when the dots got joined and she realised that Ari, who they’d opened their hearts to, had destroyed their world? That he’d repaid their friendship, _their love_ , with pain and death.

Perhaps he deserved what was happening to him. Perhaps his suffering and death would bring Ana some comfort.

And how would Crowley react to finding Newt, his friend, dead like that? He was already traumatised.How would he react to the knowledge that he’d spent months flirting with a serpent in Eden.

He’d probably never feel clean again, poor man.

Would someone still feed his kittens? Even if they all hated Ari? Would someone at least find them a new home? Or would they pay the price that Ari wouldn’t live to pay? Being rejected, abandoned, dying unwanted, on a non-slip mat , on a metal table, in some back room somewhere...

Gabriel was really hurting him now. Screaming, white hot agony. Perhaps that meant it was almost over.

Then there was stillness, less pain. Then he saw Gabriel’s face- Gabriel’s hateful pale eyes. It was barely visible through the once-clear bag, which was now filthy with soil on the outside, and with exhaled breath, vomit, and blood flecks on the inside.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Gabriel purred. “And, lest you draw any satisfaction from me going down for this, they’re going to find your boyfriend’s spunk all over the place. And, _wouldn’t you know it_? You sent that text to Sandy this morning! The one saying that ole’ Crowley threatened to hurt you if you didn’t give it up....“ 

Gabe waggled a phone Ari vaguely recognized in his face.  


“...Add to that, my word as a police officer that I found Crowley standing over your body. No one is _ever_ going to so much as _glance_ my way. Now, I have to make a phone call. Don’t go anywhere.”  


Gabe walked away then, laughing at his own joke. 

Ari felt a certain, dull shock that even now, at the very end, life was still finding a way to be more painful that expected.  


With his mind filled with images of grieving Ana standing by a coffin, Ari didn’t think he could feel any worse.  But the thought of kind, honey-eyes Crowley being lead away in handcuffs did it. 

How had he destroyed the lives of so many lovely people so quickly?  


  
But then, even in despair, he found some steel. Newt was gone, beyond help, and Ana’s grief was unquenchable. But Crowley. He had to at least _try_ to save Crowley.

He formed a plan.

A plan that was stupid and flawed but it was all he had. 

Crowley would have good lawyers, they’d be looking for someone else. Perhaps, Ari could leave the lawyers a hint. Perhaps, if he could, Ana and Crowley would know he tried. Perhaps, they would _forgive him_.  


He recalled reading once, when trying to learn how to cover bruises, that bruises got worse posthumously. He could reach his back with his handcuffed fingers. Perhaps, if he pinched Gabriel’s initials in his skin, a pathologist would notice.  


Perhaps Crowley’s lawyers would look at Elijah- surely they would look at Elijah - and they would recognize his partners initials in the pathology report. Throw enough doubt. Secure an acquittal.  


_Stupid._

_Flawed._

_All he had._

He put his Hail Mary into practice, while Gabe called whoever it was psychopaths called mid-murder. G.B. First in Morse code, and then in something approximating normal text. This pain felt good, somehow, somehow cleaner and clearer than the pain of his body, than in his thudding, aching head.

The world was shrinking.  


He didn’t want to die, but knew he was going to. As everything else began to slip, he focused on the cold of the ground. It was less ugly than the pain, than the smell of vomit. He’d done what he could. His suffering could help no-one now.

The ground was so cold.

_Cold_.

He roused a little when he thought he heard Gabriel talking, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. Sounds didn’t make sense any more. 

If he hoped for anything, it was for the moment when Gabriel would replace the stinking, filthy bag, with a hole, with a fresh one, without.  


In that moment, if he was quick, he could breathe fresh air, one more time, see the sky, one more time. One more second of beauty.

When Gabriel simply taped a new bag over the top of the old one, he cried.

The world got darker still, dark lights flickering in the corners of his vision, his head pounded, his chest began to scream.

Maybe, he never went to Tadfield at all. Maybe the kind people he met there were all a part of his imagination.  


  
Perhaps _that_ was why they had loved him.  


Perhaps that was better, _fairer_. At least that meant he’d never hurt them.

Then the world was gone.

•——————•

Crowley was driving badly, and too fast, and he knew it.Everything in his head was screaming all at once, even one of the ghosts sitting in the car was screaming. Concentration was impossible.

By some miracle, though, the road was quiet and the Bentley handled like a car it’s age had no Earthly right to handle. It smoothed his turns, softened his juddering braking, and somehow, he made it back to the Manor alive.

He dived out of the car, screaming Ari’s name. Listening desperately for a reply he heard... buzzing.

His phone in the grass.

He answered it.

“ _Mr Crowley! My name is Gabriel Bannerman and I have something of yours.”_

Crowley felt a wave of something, strong enough to bring him to his knees. He thought it was relief. 

He _knew_ what this was.

This was a _kidnapping!_

Just a kidnapping! Maybe, Crowley thought, he could still fix this, with nothing more than money. And if he could, he would never ask for anything, ever again.

“I’ll give you anything,” he replied, barely recognizing the hoarse, shaking voice as his own. “I got Newt to a Doctor. I think he could be okay. Which means you haven’t really hurt anyone too badly. And I’ll give you money. No police. And everyone can walk away.”

The kidnapper, Bannerman, did not sound pleased. _“You’ve been off the property? I thought you couldn’t drive.”_

“I HAD to,” Crowley replied stupidly. “You hurt Newt.”

“ _You know what, fine? I can work with this. Might actually work out. But from now on you do what I say and only what I say._ _Rule 1: Stay on the phone. And keep talking. You hang up, he dies. You stop talking he dies_.”

“But we’re in the bloody country,” Crowley exclaimed desperately. “I can’t do anything about mobile reception.”

“ _Better hope you’re lucky then_ ,” Bannerman responded disinterestedly. “ _Rule two: you get in your car, the old one, and you drive up Cowpasture road. You don’t stop for anything or anyone. I’ll be listening. You’ll see your car and another car by the side of the road. Park neatly, get out, leave your keys in the ignition. Walk up the embankment into the woods about thirty yards. You’ll see us.”_

Low-tech kidnapping, then... 

....still, Crowley was giving out prizes for unhurt Ari’s today, not originality. 

  
Also what kind of kidnapper gives his name??

“ _Crowley, I don’t hear talking..._ ”

“Shit! right, sorry. What do you want me to talk about?”

_“I don’t care, sunshine. Just get here, now._ “

Crowley bolted into action, got back into the car and turned around, nattering in an almost stream of consciousness fashion.  


  
Mostly he described what he was driving past, what gear he was in, occasionally lapsing into song lyrics.  


More often, begging.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Crowley jammered, trying desperately to think, but completely unable to because he absolutely could not shut up. “You wouldn’t _dream_ of hurting him if you knew him. Newt either actually, not that I’m cross because he’s fine, he’s going to be fine. And so is Ari, because you aren’t going to hurt him. And I’m going to give you what ever you want, and we are all going to end the day happy, and everything is going to be okay. And, I’ll tell you a funny story, I bought a cow today. And I don’t know anything about cows and I like, _massively overestimated_ how much cows cost, and maybe I was thinking of horses? and I don’t really like horses that much, and well it’s not that I _don’t like them -_ they are fine, you know, sort of, over there? in paddocks? - but I don’t like _riding_ them, and anyway, so, I bought this cow, and it’s not just any cow, I met Ari because of this cow, and please don’t hurt him, because he’s so lovely, and...”

And on and on, and he couldn’t hear himself think, and what did it matter anyway?  


He didn’t need to think, he didn’t want to be caught thinking, he just needed to make this man happy, and convince him...

...convince him that he was going to pay the money, and he **_WAS_** going to pay the money....

....and that he wasnt going to call the police, and he _**WASN’T**_ going to call the police...

...and by some miracle, or act of Bentley, he found the place.

Still talking, he began to jammer that he was there, and he was leaving the keys, and that he was walking up the embankment, and that he wasn’t armed, and that no one was with him.

He reminded himself to smile at Ari, when he saw him. Let him know everything would be alright. That Crowley was going to fix it. Poor Angel must be so scared.

And then he saw Ari through the trees. Ari’s naked, bloody body.

Crowley began to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely, kind comments (even on such a horrid chapter!) I will reply to them all, I promise, but I figured it would be better to prioritise updating daily till this fic climbs out of the darkness.
> 
> I promise that the comments were no less appreciated for it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: Lethal violence, brief description of lethal and non lethal injuries. Firearms.

Michael drove as she always drove. Her back well clear of the comfort of the seat, hands and ten and two, and purposeful.

The country was pretty she supposed. _Too pretty._ It was pissing her off, because she was pissed at B, and this place could at least have the good grace to be a _fucking shithole._

She turned onto a nauseatingly picturesque, hedge-lined street called Cowpasture Road. Her bug said Bannerman’s car was just up a few more miles. 

She found it by a nauseatingly picturesque little wood; all ancient trees and dabbled sunlight no doubt. With two other cars. She called in the plates , _unofficially_ , and BOTH were registered to Crowley.

_B was a SUCH a fucking liar._

Furious, Michael parked the car and got her _unofficial_ hand gun out of the glove box. She wanted to call for reinforcements, but if she could actually catch the end of the handoff, she would have much stronger evidence, and hopefully be that much better armed against however B was going to try to screw her.

She drew the weapon and crept forward.

The scene she actually saw through the trees was horrifying, and made no goddamn sense. 

A naked bleeding man lay in the dirt suffocating or suffocated. She was too far away to tell.  


Crowley was on his knees begging for the man’s life. Pleading.  


And Bannerman was pointing a gun at Crowley’s chest.

_What the actual fuck was this??!!_

She opened her mouth to announce herself, to order Bannerman to lower his weapon, but then he saw her.

Time slowed. The barrel of Bannerman’s gun swung towards her. 

Michael fired first.

•———————•

Crowley heard the gun shot and assumed he was dead.

But it was Bannerman that fell.

The logic centers of his brain were unable to draw the connection between the gun in Bannerman’s hand and the bullet in Bannerman’s brain. 

At least, until the logic centers in his brain noticed the middle aged red-head in a pant suit scrambling across the forest floor to kick the gun away from Bannerman’s dead hand.

That done, she stared at him, wild eyed. “I had to!” She said to him. “He has his finger on the trigger! He’s a police officer! He has trigger discipline! Bag!”

Crowley blinked. “What?!”

“Bag!” The woman almost shouted and suddenly Crowley’s brain started screaming again.

He scrambled to Ari, and tore at the bag uselessly with his fingers. By the time he noticed she was trying to hand him a pen knife he had already torn the bag open with his teeth.

“I’ll have to tell forensics your saliva is on that,” the woman said, stupidly, and Crowley had to resist a strange urge to slap her, but then she shouted. “CPR! Ambulance!” And he decided she was useful after all.

Crowley could not remember how many rescue breaths went with how many chest compressions, and nor could he recall later what he actually did, only that he poured all of his rage, fear and grief into some pattern of them.

He didn’t stop until the red-head was pulling at his wrists and screaming “Stop! Stop! Recovery position now!” straight into his face.

Ari was alive. 

Crowley started screaming again. Howling at the sky. He could no more stop than he could have stopped his own heart.

His voice was gone, after a while, and eventually, a nice doctor sedated him.

•—————•

Ana flicked her eyes from Newt, still intubated, and still woozy, from his laryngeal repair surgery that morning in his hospital bed, to Crowley, all limbs and angles, sleeping, contorted, in a hospital chair.

She was bone tired, and worried about both of them.

By the time Crowley had called her, nearly eight the previous evening, the otolaryngologist has stopped talking about heart-stopping things like airway compromise and had begun talking about duration of airway support, and organizing speech therapy, in a much more work-a-day tone.

Once that happened, Ana’s brain was able to switch from Newts-in-danger! to Newt has a problem we need to get through. And once THAT happened, her conscience began to weigh in, very heavily, about some of the things she’s said to Crowley.

So, it had been something of a relief to see Crowley calling, and with Newt settled she had happily answered the phone to reassure him about Newt - and apologize- even going so far to wonder if she could make a joke about eating crow without getting something blue in return.

  
But when she’d answered...

”Ana. I think Ari is dying.”

  
She didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget how his voice sounded saying those words.  
  


It had taken fifteen minutes to even get out of him that he was in the same building as her.

Downstairs in A&E.

The nurse there had been relived to see her, nobody felt quite comfortable releasing Crowley, but it was an A&E Department and, as ever, they needed the bed.

”Keep an eye on him,” the nurse whispered sympathetically.   
  


Ana, sensing weakness, then cornered the poor nurse pressed desperately to find out something about Ari. But she learned only that he’d arrived, and had been admitted to ICU and then they hit a wall.

Gallingly, the hospital would not release any information to anyone other than Ari’s mother or... Elijah.

Crowley, at that last piece of information, began to slowly erupt and it was likely only by steering him quickly outside that she avoided getting him kicked out of the hospital for good.

“That’s good isn’t it?” Crowley muttered. “Elijah... maybe he’ll get to kill Ari after all... get to just flick a switch...”

”wait, what?”

Crowley sighed. “Oh yeah, I forgot. You still think this was mobsters or loan sharks coming after me. Here look...B sent it.”

He handed her his phone, a scanned image on the screen- it appeared to be a partially redacted police record for a shoplifting case from several years ago.

Ana frowned. “What am I looking at?”

”Says Bannerman and Elijah are, like, police partners? Work together.”

”And Bannerman is?”

”Thankfully, _dead_. But also the guy who attacked Newt and Ari. It was fucking Elijah all along.”

  
  
Ana exhaled. “Anthony, I’m sorry that I thought...”

”Nah. Don’t worry about it. Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go back to Newt, yeah?”

And that’s where they had spent the night. 

Now it was morning.

And someone was knocking.

B.

Crowleys lawyer was not exactly Ana’s favourite person, and her nerves were a little frayed. But she couldn’t bear to wake Crowley either.

“Can I help you?” Ana asked.

B ignored her, looking at Crowley, with a deep, naked concern.   
  


Ana thawed a little.

”He alright?” B asked, eventually.

”Not really, no.”

  
  
Crowley stirred. “I’m fine.”

B nodded. “Yeah, I suppose not. So let’s catch you two up. Right, we started with two competing narratives.

“Story A: Crowley here threatens Aziraphale Fell. Fell is frightened, texts his ex boyfriend. Ex boyfriend, Sanderson, is 3-4 hours away in Plymouth so he texts his workmate,Bannerman, who’s in London, and more like 90 minutes away. Bannerman leaves for Tadfield, happens to forget his phone. Unknown to Sanderson or Bannerman, Crowley’s lawyer, yours truly, has been having their ex-girlfriend, Michael, keep an eye on themand she drives to Tadfield too. Bannerman finds Crowley in the middle of murdering Fell, after assaulting Pulsifer, and tries to intervene, whereupon he is shot, in the line, by corrupt copper, Michael...

“...Story B: Sanderson and Bannerman decide for murder Fell because he’s an accomplice in their shady dealings and they think that he might rat them out. They learn he’s sniffing around Crowley, getting him to buy him extravagant presents and pay his bills etc. so they decide to try to pin his murder on Crowley. They stitch him up using a series of text messages, assault Pulsifer, kidnap Fell. But, unbeknownst to them, Professional Standards is already on to them, and Michael follows Bannerman and shoots him in the middle of murdering Fell...

“...Now, obviously as Crowley’s lawyer, I’ve been pushing story B. And we caught a break. Two interviews by, let me see here, Deirdre Young and an F. U. Shadwell, place Crowley in a field, while someone was driving his car, and at the medical clinic seeking help for Pulsifer. This had investigators lean towards B for long enough for Sanderson to crack under interrogation...

“...Assuming nothing hinky in the forensic report, or Pulsifer’s eventual statement, I think I’ve got you clear of this, Crowley.”

B frowned when Crowley didn’t react. “Could you give us the room, Dr Device?”

Ana scowled. “I could not. That’s my husband.”

“You can talk in front of her B,” Crowley murmured.

  
B glared. “Could. But won’t.”

Ana folded her arms. “I’m not leaving Newt.”

”Me neither,” Crowley added flatly.

B hummed in an agitated fashion. “Fucken... look. Crowley! Need to talk to you about something else in that statement. Something before Christmas, in a hotel room. Something you forgot to tell me about...”

Ana’s brow crinkled, but Crowley didn’t answer B. Instead he just curled in on himself in the chair, blocking his ears with his shoulder.

B sighed, defeated, and tossed Crowley a folder. “Fine. Read about it then. Then call me if you want me to do something about it...”

Crowley shrugged.   
  


Ana’s mind backtracked a little. “Wait did you say the police think Ari was involved in some sort of criminal thing?”

”You don’t pay my bills, Doc...”

Ana folded her arms again. “Tell me!”

”Yeah. He’ll probably get arrested _when_ he’s well enough. Or... you know.. _if_.”

”You need to fix it!” Ana replied. “He’s innocent.”

B scowled. “No, I don’t! I’m Crowley’s, lawyer, and Crowley actually _IS_ innocent. Like, for once. His interests are my concern, not some shady, con-artist, rent boy, who’s milking my client for charity.”

Ana’s eyes narrowed. “Ari IS innocent. And if you can’t help him then you need to find someone who can...”

B’s lip curled. “I don’t work for you, Doctor Device.”

  
Across the room, Crowley’s shoulders started to shake, with low mournful sobs.

B fell silent, aghast.

”Just find someone, please.” Ana whispered. “It’s what Anthony would be asking you to do, if he wasn’t... please?”

B sighed, heading for the door. “Fine. Yeah. Alright. I’ll call Dana Agon. She’s killer. Just sure hope this Aziraphale Fell is _worth_ all this...”

  
Ana crept over to Crowley, taking care not to step on the black folder, splayed where it landed on the ground. She warily placed an experimental hand on his back, and, when he did not flinch or object in any way, she began to rub his back in slow circles.

•————-•

When Crowley stopped crying and pulled himself together, he decided to call Ari’s mother, because he could literally think of nothing else to do.

The number was already in his phone, the private investigator having turned it up months ago.

Ana, watching unabashed over his shoulder, blinked in surprise when she saw the number, but aloud all she said was a supportive “Worth a try.”

In fact, Crowley tried several times as the second day wore on

11:47

Hello, Mrs Fell? Or Ms Fell? Sorry. My name is Anthony Crowley. I’m a friend of Ari... of Aziraphale... your son... and I’m sorry to tell... I know you aren’t on the best of terms, but Ari’s hurt. In hospital, and they won’t talk to us. Can you please call me back? 

15:21

Hello Mrs Fell? I’m not sure...anyway... I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m not sure I got across how important it is that you call me. Ari got _really badly_ hurt, and... he might not be okay... and I need you to please come down here, or at least call them and say they can talk to me... I don’t know... please.

17:05

Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, and I don’t care. You hate your own son, because he’s gay or whatever? So how about this. You get down here and sign whatever it is you have to, so that they’ll talk to me, and I’ll make it worth your while. Yes! I’m that Anthony Crowley! So, swallow your pride and call me back, and you can drive a brand new car to whatever shitty, hate-filled church taught you to hate your own child. I’ll even throw in one of those hats the Queen wears. Call me!

19:37

Listen, please. You don’t understand. He could be dying. He could be dying, all alone, and nobody deserves that, least of all him. Let me be there. Please. Please help me.

She never called back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for those sticking with the story! I know it’s gotten very dark...but there’s light at the end of the tunnel.


	15. Chapter 15

  
Crowley stared moodily at his phone. This was _interminable_.

  
”So, they really aren’t going to tell us anything?” he asked. “ _Ever_?”

Ana startled at the sound of his voice. She might have been drifting off. Crowley hadn’t spoken for a hours.

”Well,” she replied, hesitantly. “I mean, once Ari regains consciousness, he’ll be able to direct them to talk to us. I’m sure they’ll ask him, we’ve made enough of a nuisance of ourselves.” She was stroking Newt’s chest gently, as she spoke, and he was stirring a little, in response to her voice.

Crowley tried to steel himself. “So, if they haven’t called us, that means he is still unconscious? Still? What does that mean?”

Ana sighed. “Anthony, you said you had to do CPR. That he.... that he had a... that he wasn’t breathing. If he wasn’t breathing for more than a few minutes, then, even if he started again...”

”No.”

”Anthony...”

”I said no, Ana. Don’t start talking like that. I can’t... _no_.”

Newt was starting to stir more and Ana looked a little panicked, her attention divided. “Anthony, I think we have to...”

Crowley stood. “And I said no. Not yet... I’m not... I’m not doing _that_ yet. Looks like Newt’s waking up. I’ll give you two some privacy, yeah?”

”Anthony, wait...” Ana called. But he didn’t, and knew she wouldn’t follow him.

He wandered up the hall, hands furiously stuffed in his pockets, very badly wanting a cigarette.

”Anywhere to smoke around here?” he asked a young man pushing an empty wheelchair.

”Nah, mate, unsurprisingly,” the man answered.

Crowley smiled thinly. “Direct me to the bar, then?”

The man snorted. “Erm... there’s a serenity garden?”   
  


Crowey groaned. “Really?”

”Chapel?”

”Nope! That’s worse, I’ll take the garden, thanks.”

It still being winter, the garden was dreary. Dead sticks, rocks, maudlin angel statues. 

“Yeah, this is loads better, thanks,” Crowley announced to the empty garden. Ana’s horrible words were prowling on the edge of his consciousness.

“Oy! Crowley!” 

Crowley jumped. A tall woman he had never seen before was stalking towards him. She was something of a paradox, in a French cut suit, but with an unapologetically Northern accent.

“He’s cracked it, by the way,” the unknown woman said, conversationally. 

“Who?”

“Him in 7-West 14.”

Crowley shook his head. “Who are you again?” 

“Dana Agon! And I’m telling you, he’s cracked it. I go in there, trying to get him to flip on this Enoch Cryer geezer, but he just keeps rambling on and on about Pulsifer being dead, which isn’t even true and...”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Your Ari’s lawyer! He’s conscious?! 7-West 14 isn’t the ICU. _What’s happening_?”

“Damned if I know!” Agon replied. “I just know, I’ve been to cockroach races which were a better use of my time than talking to that bloke. First, I have to sneak past Nurse Ratched to get in there, then, he rends his garments over this Pulsifer guy for-fucking- _ever_ , then, he’s so worked up a bunch of monitors start going off and I get kicked out. My advice? Throw the whole rent boy out, get a new one.”

Crowley couldn’t think. ”He’s awake? Conscious? Talking? _What_?!”

Agon rolled her eyes at him. “Christ! Has stupidity gone STI now? Cause if it has, we’re all doomed. I’m going back to my office.”

•————-•  
  


Ari couldn’t breathe. It was like he’d forgotten how.   
  


His lungs screamed, he took half a breath, his broken ribs spasmed, causing his breath to catch, and his lungs to scream harder.

He was dimly aware of monitors blaring, of his sweet, Geordie nurse pressing an oxygen mask to his face, imploring him to try to slow his breathing down. Someone was suggesting that they page someone else. Ari sort of hoped ‘someone else’ was the neurologist. He hadn’t been able to make himself listen to his surgeon, and the people from psych had seemed equally unhappy with him. At least he'd pleased the neurologist.

”Deep breaths, my lamb, Slowly,” his nurse was cooing. Then, her voice changed, “Sir... excuse me, sir you can’t...”

” ** _Angel! Look at me!_** ”

Ari instinctively obeyed the voice. He saw soft, honeyed eyes. Eyes that should have been rage-filled, disgusted.

Eyes that should have hated him, eyes that _didn’t_.

”Newt’s fine, Ari. He’s alive and he’s fine. I’ve just left his room, and he’s fine. He must be fine, because Ana’s speaking to me. And Gabriel’s dead. And Elijah’s in custody. And I need you to breath for me, Angel. Please. I’ve been so worried. Please.”

Ari tried to focus, didn’t care if it was really Crowley, didn’t care if the voice was spinning lies. It promised forgiveness and he’d follow it anywhere.

”Newt’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s you we’ve been worried about. We didn’t know where you were, what was happening, but I’ve found you now, and everything will be okay. I will make everything okay.”

Ari followed the voice, and felt like he was drowning... _less_. A frantic beeping, somewhere in his consciousness, grew less frantic.

Crowley’s face began to coalesce out of the chaos.   
  


“Oh, kittens! Don’t worry about the kittens! Deirdre picked them up from the Manor. They are beating up Adam’s dog, as we speak. There’s a video! I’ll show you, but you have to breath first, okay, Angel? For me?”

It _was_ Crowley and he _didn’t_ hate him. Crowley’s face was haggard, eyes bruised and blood-shot, but full of... fear... and love... for him.

It didn’t seem possible.

”Newt?” Ari panted out through ragged breaths. “Okay?”

”Completely!” Crowley said. “Well, sort of. I mean, he needed surgery. A bit. But he’s waking up now... oh I know, I’ll videocall Ana!”

The nurse frowned. “Sir, I really must...”

”Shhh... this will help! Ana, Ana, I’ve found Ari! He’s really worried about Newt! Can you...”

_”Ari?! Ari sweetheart?! Are you okay?!”_ Ana shouted down the phone, and promptly started to cry.

Crowley groaned. “Oh that’s typical. I’ve been a wreck for days, and the second we find you, I’m a paragon of calm, and Ms Stoic falls to pieces...”

Ari reached for the phone with a shaky hand. “Newt...” he managed to wheeze.

The tiny image of Ana nodded furiously. “ _Oh yes! Now, he has a tube down his throat, and a sort of neck brace thingy on, but he’s fine okay, Ari?! He’s awake and breathing on his own”_

She angled the phone a little and Newt appeared, and dutifully attempted a woozy smile around his ET tube and a thumbs up.

  
Ari waved dizzily at the phone. _Was Newt really okay? Was this really happening?_

”There, you see, Angel?” Crowley cooed. “Everything’s okay. Just breath Angel. Just breath. It’s okay.”

”Sir,” the nurse spoke, sounding a little reluctant now, “you don’t have the patients permission to be here, I have to ask you to...”

Ari summoned the tattered rags of his courage and grabbed Crowley’s wrist.

The nurse broke into a smile, and gently patted his other hand. “Alright then, lovely. He can stay, if it’s alright with you.”

Ari looked Crowley in the eyes. “You don’t hate me?”

Crowley looked, baffled, looked like he had a million questions, but all he did was smile. “No. Definitely not that. _Never_ that.”

  
He sat down carefully on the bed, took Ari’s other hand, the one not still clutching his wrist, and leaned forward. Not a kiss, just lightly touching their foreheads together. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

A new person strode into the room, and Ari flinched. It _was_ psych.

”Panic attack?” She asked the nurse...

...who nodded. “Or something like”

”He thought our friend Newt was dead,” Crowley added his voice defensive, perhaps slightly accusatory. “No one told him otherwise.”

The woman from psych nodded serenely. “Self-blame is very common in situations like this.” She said it in a tone that suggested they might take some sort of comfort in that. “And I’ll add some diazepam p.r.n. to his chart.”

”Diazepam!” Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’ll sneak you something better.”

”You will not!” Ari’s nurse declared, horrified.

”He’s only joking, my dear” Ari reassured her. “His sense of humor is somewhat...er, _singular_.”

Crowley smiled. “And you’d better get used to it,” he added. “Because, now I’ve found him again, there will be no getting rid of me. Nothing to be done about it.”

Ari’s felt his own cautious smile falter, Crowley didn’t know yet...

But Crowley was watching him too closely. “I mean it, Angel. _Nothing_. Nothing that happened. Nothing that was done. Nothing that was said. I’m with you. Wild horses couldn’t. I promise. Don’t even wonder. Not for a second. I promise.”

•—————-•

Michael was getting less enthusiastic about Aziraphale Fell being prosecuted with every passing second.

It wasn’t _just_ how close she, herself, had come to being taken down by this shabby conspiracy. It wasn’t _just_ how what Bannerman did to the poor man haunted her dreams.

It was also that, every time he answered a question, the answer made her want to retreat into a bubble bath with a bottle of red wine.

_He’d moved in with Sanderson at eight-fucking-teen. Jesus._

Dana Agon was sitting on the other side of the hospital bed, examining her cuticles.

Michael tried again. “Mr Sanderson alleges that you took some of this ‘brown envelope’ money for your personal use. Is that correct?”

”Yes,” Fell answered, miserably, immediately.

Agon sighed theatrically.

”How much of the money did you take,” Michael asked. “A rough guess is okay.”

”Six hundred and fifty,” Fell whispered quietly.

Now they were getting somewhere. “Six hundred and fifty thousand?” Michael confirmed. “And what did you...”

Fell looked horrified. “No! My dear! Six hundred and fifty _pounds_ , which is bad enough!”

Agon snorted.

Maybe scratch the red wine. Maybe a bottle of Campari.

”And what did you spend six hundred and fifty pounds on?” Michael continued heroically.

”Well, it was escape money,” Fell answered gloomily. “You see dear, Elijah had taken all of my money, and I’d saved up for the book, and that night he’d... well, I said already, and he also ruined the book. And I thought, I was justified in taking it to get away. But you are quite right, my dear, I knew, on some level, the money wasn’t _really_ Elijah’s. So I was just lying to myself, wasn’t I?...

”... Now let’s see, I bought some clothes from the op shop, as a disguise, I bought a sandwich, and a bus ticket, and then another bus ticket, and then I was at Newt and Ana’s and I bought some groceries, and I paid an electric bill, and the vet bill for this badger I found, that was quite a bit, and some vaccines, formula and feeding bottle for orphaned kittens.”

”You can see my problem, Michael,” Agon drawled. “Where am I supposed to find a barrister who will take this guy before a jury?! He’s basically a monster!”

”Oh!” Ari broke in “And I gave 25 pounds to the Barnados lady...”

Michael stared at him.

”...because the book only cost 625 and there weren’t any small notes”.

Agon looked up from her nails. “History’s greatest monster. I mean Barnados? Kitten formula? Can you imagine if the jury is full of dog-people?! They’ll probably bring back _hanging_ for him, special!”

Michael sighed. “Fine, fine. Point taken. I’ll talk to a judge and work something out. Nothing recorded. Maybe a fine or some community service?”

Agon shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

Michael stood to go.

”Excuse me detective?”   
  


She sighed. “Yes, Mr Fell?” Earnest blue eyes regarded her.   
  


“I just wanted to thank you, for saving us. Crowley and I, I mean. It was terribly heroic. Thank you.”

Michael smiled uncomfortably. “You’re very welcome.”

  
Bubbles and all the Campari. _All of it_.

•————-•  
  


Ana was having a tediously slow conversation with her husband, by way of the whiteboard and four coloured markers that the nurses had given him to communicate with while intubated, and later, while on “vocal rest”.

Or, rather, she was _trying_ to have a conversation, but Newt wasn’t really cooperating.

She was trying to talk about him, but whatever she said, he would just make little tap marks in the top right hand corner of his whiteboard - where he’d written the words ‘I’m fine Ana’ and drawn a box around it.   
  


Newt only wanted to talk about Ari.

Be Kind to Him!

Newt wrote out in blue.

Ana tried to be annoyed. She was _always_ kind, dammit. But the part of her that was capable of being annoyed with Newt he vanished- that day- and had not been seen, or heard of, since.

  
She presumed it would crawl home eventually.

Hell feel responsible, 

Newt wrote out in black.

Ana frowned “Hell? What?”

Newt frowned and added an apostrophe.

Ana sighed and nodded.

Newt added the words

I always did

Ana kissed his shoulder, gently. She picked up the red marker and drew a heart, a fluffy sheep, a second heart, and then a silly smiley face.

Newt puzzled, then drew an arrow to the smiley and wrote

Stupid face?

Ana added two big green ticks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, lovely readers, for your support with this story. 
> 
> I have to let you down a little. I can’t keep up with the daily posting regime, now that we are through the really bad part. 
> 
> The remaining few chapters will appear more slowly, although not too slowly... just closer to my original 2-3 per week pace.
> 
> I’m really sorry, I know everybody is stressed, and maybe a little bored, and I wish I could write faster... <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content advisory: Mentions of trauma and rape.

Crowley met B at snobbish London restaurant. The kind behind an unmarked door. In fact, the name of the restaurant appeared exactly one place anywhere, painted in black paint on a black wall. It was impossible to read in sunglasses, and so Crowley had never read it. He and B just referred to it as ‘that stuck up place with the stupid food’.

The food was, allegedly, ‘deconstructed Mediterranean-Polynesian fusion’, as the dead eyes wait staff intoned every time. Each plate was a ridiculous, kaleidoscopic work of art, and neither Crowley nor B ever ate any of it.

”Do you suppose the chef minds that we never eat?” Crowley asked, on this occasion. “Do you reckon he’s, like, all offended?”

B turned one corner of her mouth. “Nah! _This guy_? This guy secretly doesn’t want anyone to eat his food. What he secretly wants is for everyone to get one look at their plate, and weep for joy at its beauty until they die of dehydration. So I reckon we’re an improvement on the average diner...”

Crowley snorted. “I feel weirdly compelled to eat it now. Anyway, B what are we doing here.”

B nodded. “Update. I found her.”

”Found who?”

”I think you know her as Amber.”

The name was enough to put Crowley off even his spite-based appetite.

  
B pursed her lips. “You ever read that police report I left you?”

Crowley nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. Yeah I did. But I just... I don’t want... I can’t... just leave it alone B.”

”Yeah, no,” B relied immediately. “She raped you Crowley. I’m not leaving her alone. Look, this case? Nobody, with any power in the system, wants any of this to go on for one second longer than it has to. Look at it from _Power’s_ point of view. Corrupt cops on one side, and three victims on the other. You, famous, handsome, celebrity bad-boy, and two Candy-Floss people.”

Crowley raised an eye-brow. “Ari’s a Candy-Floss person now? That’s new. I thought he was a conniving honey-trap that dragged me into his shabby mess?”

B sighed. “Yeah, alright. I admit I didn’t like the guy. I mean, we go back, Crowley, and I thought he had you snowed. But then...”

”But then what?”

To Crowleys astonishment, B smiled then, almost properly.

“...But then I threw Agon at him, didn’t I? And I mean, you should have _seen_ her, the last few days. She’s stirring pots, all over. She’s whispering to Enoch Cryer that Sanderson’s flipped on him. She’s whispering to Sanderson that Cryer’s fingered him as the ring leader. She’s starting all sorts of rumours about incriminating evidence, found in Bannerman’s apartment. She’s whispering to prison guards and solitary housing orders are being inexplicably lost. She’s slipping joints to prison gang leaders. She’s a _sight_!....

”... And, I reckon, if Arizaphale Fell IS a con-artist? And, he’s so _good_ at it, that he’s got _Dana mother-fucking Agon_ LARPing as an Avenging Angel, all over London? If he’s THAT good? Then, he _deserves_ to spread the likes of you on his crumpets, and eat you for breakfast.”

Crowley considered this for quite a while. “Should I... be _offended_...?”

B smirked. “Nah, darling. Not everyone can be a shark. Oceans NEED herring and that.”

”I’m herring?!”

B relented. ”Whitebait?”

Crowley glared. “I demand, and at the very minimum, to be a magnificent swordfish.”

”And I,” B replied calmly “Am going to mock you for saying that, for the next ten years. Now, yeah. This Amber person. This case - corrupt cops vs you and a couple of Care Bears- this case is a media circus waiting to happen. It’s reportable, it’s editorial, it might even be fucken _memeable_. The powers that be won’t want a bar of that, and Amber is going to get lost in the shuffle, unless I make a fuss. So what I’m asking you is, am I making a _legal_ fuss or, let’s call it, an _extra-legal_ fuss?”

Crowley sunk his head into his hands. “Don’t do anything. If she gets lost, then she gets lost. I’m sure they were blackmailing her. Just leave it be.”

”I told you, Crowley, I ain’t doing that. But I hear you. Plausible deniability, yeah? You know nothing about it.”

”No. That’s not what I...”

But B put her finger to the side of her nose and nodded, and Crowley was suddenly very tired. Too tired to go on fighting for Amber, who hadn’t been willing to fight for him.

  
So, he changed the subject.

”They’re letting Ari go home tomorrow,” he said.

”Right...?” B replied, brow creased.

“And I don’t know...What do I _do,_ B? How do I...? Any...advice?” Crowley asked, a little helplessly.   
  


B tilted her head. “Sorta depends, Crowley. Do we love the Care Bear?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, B. I think I do.”

”And the Care Bear loves you?”

”I...I think?”

B rolled her eyes. “Honestly, could you _be_ more useless? You said, ‘I love you, Care Bear’ and Care Bear replied...?”

  
Crowley shifted a little. “Well I don’t think I’ve actually told...”

B cackled. “So, you love this guy, and you told your lawyer first?! What you should _do_ , Crowley, is run for **Rich Guy Stereotype of the Year**!” 

  
“B. I’m asking for help here.”

”Fine,” B sighed. “No more private investigators. Talk. Say words. Out loud. Find out things like a normal human. Either confess about the imaginary charities and the library job immediately or take both to your grave. Your preference, but it’s one of the other, no half measures. Be in love, and I can’t stress this enough, be in love _out loud_. Be kind. Don’t be a shit-head. End of advice.”

Crowley blinked. “That’s it?”

”Yup,” B nodded. “Oh, and don’t make him fuck you too quickly. Really don’t be a shit-head ought to cover that, though. Right, we done admiring our food yet? Cause I don’t have all day. You want updates on this thing I’m not doing?”

Crowley sickly shook his head.

”K, then. Take care of yourself, Swordfish.”

•————•

Ari packed up his hospital room, _carefully_. He even stripped the bed and _carefully_ folded the sheets.

His discharge papers, some addressed to himself, and some to Ana, were carefully tucked in their respective envelopes, and various medications were safely contained inside a paper bag with the top folded down.

By far the most work were the stuffed animals. It had started with a toy kitten, that vaguely resembled Merry, that Crowley has spotted in the gift shop. The next time it was a pink fluffy llama with a unicorn horn, because who could imagine such a thing. 

Then things has spiralled and once the collection had grown to be noticeably ridiculous, there had been, of course, no stopping Crowley. He came back with another one practically every time he left the room.

His lovely nurse, Phoebe, came in then, tutted affectionately about the sheets and then came over to coo at the stuffed pile of ridiculous animals.

Ari sighed at her expression. “Really, my dear?” he asked, holding up a rainbow polka-dot pig as an exemplar.

Phoebe smiled. “He doesn’t know how to help you. And he wants to, so badly.”

Ari nodded. “If I knew myself, I’d tell him, but I know it’s not...” he punctuated his sentence with a goggle-eyed flamingo. “I mean really! I’m a grown man.”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Throw them out then!” She grabbed a sparkly purple penguin and dangled it over the rubbish bin.

“Oh not that one!” pleaded Ari, before he could stop himself.

Phoebe, triumphant, returned the penguin.

Ari grumbled. “I didn’t mean it, like _that_. Only that penguins got a twin here somewhere. They’d miss each other.”

“I rest my case,” Phoebe, unmovable, replied. “He’s _good_ , lovely! You’ve got good people in your life. Hang on with both hands. And oh! Speak of the devil!”

Crowley had appeared in the doorway with a large polar bear and a bunch of flowers.

“Really?!” Ari implored, desperately, waving his hands at the pile of brightly-coloured fluff.

Crowley smirked. “Oh?! Did you think these were for you? Don’t be ridiculous! These are for _Phoebe_. For putting up with you.”

“I think I’m all set,” Ari murmured, admiring Crowley, as he picked up all the various bags. Somehow, the man was capable of making the overloaded donkey look work for him. “Let’s go home.”

Deep down the word _home_ still felt overwhelming.

“Yeah, lets go, Angel.” Crowley smiled. “Oh and don’t panic... B loaned me their driver while Newt’s recovering. Nice guy, name’s Eric. Try not to stare. Oh, B likes you now, by the way...”

Ari blinked. “B didn’t like me?”

“B doesn’t like anyone,” Crowley replied reassuringly. “And she does now. She said that any grifter that can wrap Dana Agon around his finger is a grifter worth knowing.”

Ari could only shake his head hopelessly.

They set off, then, farewelling Phoebe. 

“Nice girl, that Phoebe.” Crowley mused in the elevator. 

Ari smiled at the safe conversational territory. “Yes, _terribly_ nice. She wants to go back to school, she told me. Become a midwife. She’s saving up.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, she was telling me the other day. Quite an expensive ambition with the textbooks and all that. Be weird if all the course textbooks got delivered to her in reception, in about five minutes, wouldn’t it?”

“Thank you, my dear! That’s lovely,” Ari replied, delighted for Phoebe. And then he added. “Particularly on top of the bear and the flowers.”

Crowley screwed up his nose. “Well the bear and the flowers were actually for you, weren’t they?”

“Oh, really, my dear?”

“Want me to go back and get them?”

“No! Don’t be absurd!”

•—————•

Eric drove a black town car, now weaving its way toward Tadfield.

In the backseat, Crowley say perfectly still, Ari asleep on his shoulder.

Ari had been okay on the ward and in the elevator, but the lobby had been clearly overwhelmingly. 

On one hand, it had made Crowley’s heart leap, when Ari clutched his shoulder, walking behind him across the airy space to the front door, where Eric had somehow managed to be waiting at just the right moment.

But on the other, it drew attention to _the problem._

The problem, to put it simply, was that Crowley was running on fumes, and he was out of parts of this mess that he could fix.

Once he’d paid bills, spoiled nurses, recruited speech therapists.... he was left with this ocean of pain, lapping at the feet of everyone he cared about, and no idea what to do about it.

Apart from buying, like, ALL the therapy. Therapy all around, like drinks at a bar. But after that, _then what_?!

Who was he to stand in the face of this sort of carnage? He wasn’t anybody... or not anybody _serious_ , anyway. 

_Be in love out loud_ , B had said, as if that explained everything. How was Crowley’s love supposed to help anyone?

And now, his damn eyes were leaking again. Needed new gaskets on the damn things, obviously.

Lost in thought, Crowley startled a little when Eric opened the door. 

“Jasmine Cottage, Tadfield!” he announced cheerfully.

Crowley turned to Ari. “Angel, wake up. This is our stop.”

“Hmm.. wha...” Ari murmured blearily, before, a moment later being instantly awake, staring out the car door at Jasmine Cottage, with a fearful expression that broke Crowley’s heart.

“Come on, Angel. They’re expecting us,” Crowley added gently, but firmly, and Ari did follow him out of the car and began walking slowly towards the cottage, with the air of a man approaching an unexploded bomb.

Crowley turned back to Eric, because he needed a minute. 

  
“Thanks Eric, safe travels back! Now, how does one tip you? I have money, or I have, um... a stuffed kiwi keychain?” Crowley pulled Ari’s emergency present out of his pocket.

Eric grinned. “Oh! I’ll take the kiwi! Lovely, thanks.” Then he sauntered back to the front door, whistling, new key chain in hand.

Crowley turned back to Ari, who had reached the door, hand frozen by the door knob.

As Crowley walked up the path, Ari knocked hesitantly.

Ana opened the door and pulled Ari instantly into a hug.

“What are you doing knocking on your own door, Ari ?” she scolded gently. Her eyes sought Crowley’s seeking some sort of report.

Crowley rolled his open hand- so so.

Ana grimaced, unhappily. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Inside was Newt, who also sought an immediate hug.

Ari crumbles instantly, and sobbed desperate apologies into Newt’s shoulder.

Newt reached a hand out of the hug to awkwardly grab his whiteboard which he tapped insistently.

The words “Not your fault” and “We all love you” had been prewritten there.

Ari shook his head, and wouldn’t meet Newt’s eyes and Crowley felt yet another wave of despair.   


Newt was not so easily defeated. He marched into the kitchen, and returned, with a thick, black permanent marker in hand, carefully traced each letter, and then folded his arms.

Ari blinked back tears. “No changing your mind, then?”

Newt added an exclamation point to the end of ‘we all love you’.   
  


“Yeah, we do.” Crowley confirmed, feeling _just a l_ _ittle_ cowardly about the ‘we’. But it wasn’t quite the moment, was it?

Then, Ana opened a door and they were mobbed by hysterical kittens.   
  


“They’ve gotten so big,” Ari said, sounding desolate at having been robbed of two weeks of their smallness.

  
Crowley resisted the urge to rush out and acquire more kittens. For a start, he didn’t have a driver.

“They aren’t so big yet,” Ana soothed. “They’re still just babies. And they’ve missed you, look.”

The kittens, being kittens, picked exactly that moment to be distracted by a stray beam of light and gambled off in another direction. 

  
Ana looked horrified.

But Ari smiled. “They seem happy. That’s good.” 

  
Someone suggested they all eat something, and it was the sort of thing that seemed like a good idea, except that no one was hungry.   
  


Ana had made a cake, though.   
  


“Excellent piping there, Ana,” observed Crowley. “What happened with the ‘m’, though?”

”Got lost half way through,” Ana admitted. “Well, there is a reason I didn’t go into surgery.”

  
The welcome home cake seemed, somehow, a different sort of proposition to the dinner. By unspoken agreement, every crumb was eaten, in _defiance_ , or in _hope_ , or in _something_. 

  
But, however well meaning the gesture, the sugar helped with no ones exhaustion or unsettled nerves. Sleep seemed inevitable.

“It’s late, Crowley murmured to Ari. “I think I should go... home.”

Except leaving felt like the opposite of going home.   
  
  


Ari shook his head. “I can’t go back to the Manor. I just... I _can’t_.”

Crowley frowned, lost. “Of course not Angel, I wouldn’t expect you too. I meant...”

”But I don’t want to be alone,” Ari continued. “Please, I... _stay with me_. I don’t mean to... or maybe I do, cause I can’t be alone, I can’t just be alone, in the room, with the darkness, so, I’ll do what I have to. To not be alone. I can’t bear it.”

Crowley sighed. “I don’t think I understand you. Or if I do, it makes me so sad that I’m going to _lose it_. So, let’s stick with, I don’t understand you. But, I’ll stay with you, if that’s what you want. And you don’t have to _DO_ anything, Ari. I _want_ to help you. I want to, _so badly_. So tell me what you need. What do I do? What’s helpful?”

Ari was crying silently. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Just please. I can’t be alone. I can’t.”

“Cat videos, then. We will curl up on whatever soft surface looks good to you, and watch every cat video on the internet, or fall asleep trying. How many can there possibly be? I mean sure, cat videos talk a big game, but I’m scrappy, and a champion insomniac, and I think I can take them.”

Ari sniffed. “That’s a pretty impressive quest. You might want to find yourself a stronger team-mate, though.”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope. Never. _Sacrilege_! We are in this thing together. You and me. Ride or Die.”

  
Ari nodded “All right, my dear. If you are sure. How about the Cabriole?”

  
“The what, now?”

”You said pick a soft surface. How about the Cabriole?”

  
”Literally no idea what you are talking about, Angel.”

Ari pouted. “That, there!”

”What? Is there something behind the sofa?”

”Just _sit down_ , Crowley, dear. I’ll find a blanket.”

  
•————-•

Ana was restless, so she prowled around her cottage, well past midnight, like a caged tiger.   
  


Ari and Crowley both seemed fast asleep. Ari’s head collapsed on Crowley’s shoulder, Crowley’s face nestled amongst Ari’s curls.

Affection, and a deep burning fury at the universe, burned through her. And if Gabriel Bannerman were still alive, she’s kill him herself. Twice for preference.

_Newt’s SAFE,_ she muttered to her unconvinced self. _They’re all safe. We’re alive._

Feeling a little guilty, but in dire need of of some sweetness, she sat down, just for a moment, to take in sleeping Ari, cuddled up against the sleeping Crowley.

Actually, she saw, the **_not_** sleeping Crowley.   
  


“Have you seen this hair?” he muttered to her. “No roots! And he’s been in the hospital, so he’s not been secretly dyeing it. An honest-to-God natural, platinum blond, over thirty. May as well be a unicorn.”

Ana smiled. “I don’t know that it’s _that_ rare.”

”Unicorn, and I shalln’t hear otherwise.” Crowley insisted. “Anyway, Dr Device, as long as you are up, and spying...”

“Big sistering.” Ana corrected, firmly.

”... whichever. I need you to do me a favour. That statement that Elijah gave is in a folder in my satchel. I need you to read the part about me, at Christmas, and then, I’m going to need you to explain it to Ari. Because, while he needs to know, I just... I don’t have it in me.”

Ana frowned, but nodded, in a preliminary sort of fashion, and retrieved the folder.

Ana sighed. “Okay. Let’s see. Statement of Elijah Sanderson. Blah blah blah... _that’s_ a lie... blah blah... he’s an abusive monster... blah blah... oh hells bells, but I hate this slimy...blah blah... who the actual hell is Amber....oh SHIT!”

Ari stirred a little in his sleep.   
  


“Oy! quiet!” Crowley hissed. “What?”

Ana couldn’t answer for a bit. “Oh god. Newt was right! It sounded... oh Anthony. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley fumed ”Be sorry _quietly_! So you get it, yeah?! I need you to explain it to Ari, but you have to do it in a way so he doesn’t get _upset,_ or blame himself for it.”

”Got any Fiji Water you want me to turn into wine, while I’m at it?” Ana answered helplessly. “He’s _going_ to blame himself, Anthony.”

”But, I can’t _not_ tell him! There’ll be a forensic report, and if he’s not expecting...What am I supposed to do here, Ana?”

Ana sighed heavily. “I’ll tell him. And, I’ll tell him that you are terrified that he will blame himself, and that he shouldn’t blame himself. And then, he will blame himself. But he will heroically pretend not to, so as to not upset you, and then, eventually, you’ll have to talk about it.”

”Why is everybody suddenly so insistent that I _talk_ about things?” Crowley grumbled. “Talking about things is _bullshit_.”

“Talking about things is hard,” Ana corrected, “but, it’s courageous. I’ll organise a couples therapist and...”

Crowley guffawed. Quietly. “B’s already taken the piss out of me for doing things in the wrong order. I can’t see a _couples therapist_ with him before we’ve even been on a date. It’s ridiculous.”

Ana rolled her eyes. “You’ve been on dates. You just called them pub quizzes and library inventories.”

”Told B I loved him, before I told _him_ ,” Crowley grumbled. “And now _you_. I’m making it worse.”

”You HAVE told him you love him, you idiot. Only, you made Tracy do it, and the words she actually said was ‘ _ooh Tadfield’s getting a library! Anyone know any unemployed librarians?’_ Just pull back the curtain, Oz. You’ve done the hard part.”

”But, I haven’t though, have I? The hard part’s coming...”

”And you can do this, Anthony,” Ana replied firmly.   
  


“I bought him the cow.”

Ana smiled. “You bought him a cow?”

”The cow.”

”You bought _THE_ cow?” she squeaked. “See?! I _told_ you you can do this.”

Crowley sighed. “You’d better be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being so lovely about a slower schedule!
> 
> Very appreciated!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Advisory: animal husbandry

“Ari, stop!” Anathema repeated, horrified. It wasn’t that she’d expected the conversation to go well, but... “ _Please_! Crowley doesn’t blame you... he was worried about exactly this. Please stop! Stop **_packing_**!”

Ari glanced at her, almost apologetically, his eyes wild and miserable. “Ana, I _have_ to. I can’t stay here! All I’ve done since I got here is hurt people...What happened to Newt is bad enough, but this too? I HAVE to go.”

Ana wrung her hands. “You aren’t thinking straight. You’re upset, possibly your own trauma has been triggered...”

“My dear, please! Allow me the dignity of responsibility over my own decisions.”

Ana’s hands drifted to her hips. “I have no problem allowing you responsibility for _YOUR_ decisions, Ari. I do, however, have a problem with you taking responsibility for Elijah’s actions and for this Bannerman person. Now stop acting like some sort of ..... _Dead Albatross_!”

Ari blinked at her.

“... you know,” Ana continued, uncertainly. “It’s a poem. I’m _sure_ it’s a poem.”

“It _is_ a poem, my dear,” Ari replied with a sigh. “I’m sorry, you startled me. I supposed I considered myself more the ancient mariner than the albatross.”

Ana sighed. “To be honest, I’m somewhat regretting the metaphor, entirely. So can we just forget the albatross? What about your kittens, Ari? And, where would you even _go_?”

Ari pauses “I would go to Edinburgh. My mother’s... I was headed there initially, but I got somewhat waylaid in Milton Keynes. The bus driver... it doesn’t matter. Anyway... I _should_ have gone _there,_ to begin with. We aren’t on the best of terms, but I’m sure once I explain...”

“Ari, Crowley _tried_...” Ana broke in, miserably. “He called your mother while you were in the hospital... before we knew you were okay. He said you might be dying... and she... she never even called back. Sweetheart, I’m sorry. But...”

“Oh.” 

Ari did stop packing then, sliding down slowly on his bed, defeated, absently rubbing his broken ribs.

“...I’m sorry, I had to tell you,” Ana heard Newt walking up behind her, and felt instantly thankful for his moral support.

What she was not expecting was his _vocal_ support.

“Ari, please stay,” Newt rasped, his voice instantly dry and sore sounding, but his face determined. 

Ari was immediately horrified. “Oh, Newt, my dear, _please_! You mustn’t! You aren’t supposed to talk, yet.”

“Then, stop making me.” Newt replied, gently.

“I’ll get your whiteboard...”

“Already wrote ‘it wasn’t your fault’ and ‘we love you’ on the whiteboard. In permanent marker! Whiteboard isn’t cutting it...” Newt replied, his raw voice dropping the occasional syllable but his meaning plain.  


“... You _haven’t_ hurt us, Ari. But, if you leave us, and Crowley? Then you _will_ be hurting us. And, honestly, if you make me keep talking much longer, cause... _ouch_. I understand you feeling guilty, I’ve been there, I have, I _know_. But, I’ve come out the other side, and I know that it isn’t true, and, if you can’t see it yourself yet, well, that’s understandable. But please, listen to me. _Trust me_. We are friends and I take that seriously. You aren’t what happened to you, Ari. You aren’t what happened to me, or to Crowley. And, we _know_ that. And yeah, there is healing to do. But, don’t make us do it without you, okay? Don’t make me look back and wish I’d thought of the right words. Please, please just trust the words I have now. It is not your fault and we all love you.”

“Oh, hush immediately!” Ari answered, ignoring the tears now flowing down his face. “Very well. I suppose that staying and helping to repair the damage is the more courageous choice. And I owe you my courage. If you want it.”

“I do,” Newt replied, his voice growing even tighter with tears of his own. “In fact, I quite insist. And, yeah... I’ve going to have to stop talking.”

”Of course you must!” Ari replied. “And really, I’m surprised Ana let you go on as long as you did.”

Ana affectionately stroked Newt’s shoulder. “Well, I won’t say it was easy. But sometimes things just have to be said, with whatever voice we have at the time. And, as much as you needed to hear it, Newt needed to say it. And if I scared away his best friend and didn’t let him even try to fix it? Well, I’d never hear the end of it, would I?”

Newt nodded sagely, and ambled off to the kitchen where he began making a clutter which clearly foretold oncoming tea.

Because, Ana realised, again, and with the same wonder as she had the very first time, Newt was, always and forever, Newt. 

•————•

Crowley frowned at the update Ana had sent. 

He had already organized crepes,

\- and Raven had grumbled about being expected to cook,-

but, from the sounds of Ana’s message, a rapidly-cooling late breakfast wasn’t going to do it.

Right. New plan. Picnic. 

Raven was going to throw a _right_ wobbly.

Crowley squared his shoulders and marched back into his own kitchen. He held firm, in the face of his private chef’s histrionics, and, in the end, he emerged with a picnic basket, filled with easily enough food for twelve people. It was complete with gingham fabric wrappings that Crowley was absolutely certain Ari would find charming, and also absolutely certain that he’d never purchased. 

_Perhaps, private chefs just came equipped with that sort of thing?_

His gingham-lined armour acquired, Crowley drove carefully down to Jasmine cottage. His beloved Bentley was still being processed as ‘evidence’, so he was driving some vaguely-German-looking hatchback that the insurance company had supplied. The car was so infuriatingly ordinary that Crowley refused to make the effort to notice anything about it.

At the front door of Jasmine Cottage, he took a deep fortifying breath, and burst through, all but demanded Ari’s company on theridiculously unseasonable picnic. All, quite intentionally, before his poor angel could even summon any apologies to offer him.

“But.... it’s _February_ ,” Ari pointed out, his eyes large and anxious, desperately searching Crowley’s face.

“Bring a parka!” Crowley replied, with full force cheerfulness.

“It might snow, again....”

“ _Lovely_!”

Ari looked thoroughly unreassured, but he nodded gamely, and stood up, only permitting a faint flinch of pain to appear oh his features. “Oh! Well, okay....”

And, Crowley just kept on smiling, doing everything he could to radiate acceptance and love. He drove to a particularly picturesque spot, on his own lands, close to, but out of sight of the Manor itself. He sat with Ari, in the hatch of the hatch-back, drinking Raven’s mushroom soup, and admiring the crisp, crystalline whiteness of the snowy landscape.

“I don’t know how you can bear to look at that lot without sunglasses” Crowley said. “Although, it’s no secret that your eyes are magic. Just look at them! The original sacred blue...”

Ari looked at the ground. “Why do you say such things about me?”

“Oh, because I love you,” Crowley answered immediately and it turned out the being in love, out loud, was the easiest thing in the world right now.  


And it turned out that being in love, out loud, added an even deeper rosy blush to Ari’s cheeks than did the still, winter air. 

“But... I’m not the sort of person people _LOVE_ ,” Ari protested, miserably. “ I mean Elijah...”

“Is a horrible, abusive arsehole, and, I’m so sorry, my love, but they can happen to anybody.”

“ Well, my mother, then,” Ari protested, “Ana told me you called her. What kind of person can’t even be loved _by their own mother_?”

“ Someone with a horrible, arsehole mother,” Crowley answered, immediately. “I’ve never met either of these miserable human beings, and I don’t care to, unless you are open to me raining hellfire down on them. But, I know _you_ , and there is _absolutely nothing_ unlovable about you. In fact, I can’t imagine finding you anything but devastatingly attractive.”

Ari looked up through his lashes. A few snowflakes had accumulated on them. It _was_ snowing. “Using my own words against me is, rather, well, _cheating_ , my dear.”

“How can _you_ accuse _me_ of cheating? While _you_ are just walking around with those _eyes_ , those _curls_ , those _eyelashes_! The _cheek_ of it! Come on. Let’s walk over to the stables. We’ll go slowly and it’s not far.”

“The stables? Why the stables?”

“Because, I’m showing off, obviously. I mean, really! Have you met me? Come on, Angel,”

•———-•

The stables were beautifully architectural. Ari did not know enough about horses to evaluate stables otherwise, but definitely very pretty. Lovely and warm, too.

“Did you actually buy a horse, my dear?” Ari, carefully unwrapping his scarf, asked Crowley. “You don’t even like horses!”

“Not a horse, no,” Crowley answered happily guiding Ari towards a distant stall. “But if you.... _oh_! You aren’t wearing a bow tie? You always wear a bow tie! Did you forget how to tie them? Because I watched a YouTube video, a few times, and I’m pretty sure I’ve nailed it.”

Ari sighed. “I did _try_ to wear a bow tie, my dear. Even successfully tied it, although your concern is appreciated. Only... only tied around my neck, it rather.... well, it rather felt like duct-tape and... well, I think I’ll have to work up to it again...”

He felt a little embarrassed at his own irrationality, and over such a silly thing. But, Crowley’s face was the picture of devastation for him, and Ari felt himself pulled into a warm, strong hug, and it felt.... amazing. A _revelation_. He caught a trace of Crowley’s aroma, all leather, some exotic spice, and _desire_.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Angel,” Crowley crooned in his ear, as Ari allowed himself to melt into his shoulder. “Perhaps we can get you some button-on ones.”

“I’d thought about it, but it just feels dishonest somehow,” Ari admitted, indulging in one last inhale before pulling himself together. “I believe you were showing off, dear?”

Crowley smiled. “Ahh yes! Last stall. Go look.”

Ari was not accustomed to cows. Would not have imagined that he’d recognise her on sight...  


...But he did, immediately. Those soft brown eyes.

“Oh! Crowley, it’s her! It’s Shadwell’s cow!”

Crowley smiled. “Actually, she’s _Ari’s_ cow. You know, Newt has a theory about that cow, that she always waited by the road because she knew that, one day, you were going to need her.”

Ari reached out his hand, and the cow softly pressed her nose into it. “I can’t imagine that I’ve ever done anything to be worthy of a Guardian Cow...”

“This cow brought you into my life, and, be she a true Guardian Cow, or not, for _that_ miracle? She’s more that earned herself a proper retirement, trampling rose gardens and chewing hedge mazes. I _love you,_ Ari, and as a token of my love, I present to you, this slightly-aged, black-and-white cow, who... who has small hooves poking out of her backside for some reason....?”

“What...?l”

“There! Look!”

Ari did. “Oh, you’re right, my dear! She’s having her calf!”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “But, she can’t be! It’s winter! Baby animals are born in spring, aren’t they? Have cartoons been lying to me my whole life?”

“Well, I can’t claim to be an expert, but that baby animal is, very clearly, being born today!”

“Right? What... what do I do? Call a cow midwife? Cow doula? Hang on, where’s my phone...”

“My dear, cow doulas book out _months_ in advance,” Ari replied firmly. “I think we’d best settle for the vet.”

Crowley called the vet, Leslie,...

....and Vincent, Shadwell’s milking assistant, who had managed to double his salary by dropping by the Manor twice daily, after milking times, to feed and muck out a single cow....

....and Ana.

Ana arrived first, but she was clearly in spectator mode. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do, Crowley!” 

“You’ve delivered human babies,” Crowley protested. “It must be _basically_ the same thing.”

“Doubt it,” Ana replied, although she relent enough to pull out her phone, and start googling. “Oh, dear... hooves are upside-down. Could be posterior...”

Ari swallowed and stroked the cows nose. “Don’t worry, now. Help is coming. We’ve got you....”

Fortunately, Leslie and Vincent arrived before Ana and Crowley could get themselves too worked up.

“Don’t worry, everyone,” Leslie called, cheerfully professional. “Special deliveries are something of a passion of mine. We’ll see her right! Now, Mr Crowley, do you have a cow crush?”

“I really just met her,” Crowley replied, confused. 

At that point, Leslie stopped asking Crowley questions. 

Nonetheless, apart from a minor kerfuffle in which Crowley briefly mistook a mechanical calf-puller for a cross-bow, things proceeded quickly and smoothly. 

Ari busied himself at the cows head, stroking her face and nose, while Vincent and Leslie got on with it, Crowley paced and fretted, and Ana recorded the whole thing on her phone, and made occasional commentary on what would happen if ‘that contraption” were employed in an L and D Ward.

And then, a calf was born.

•————•

“Oh look! It’s standing up already! Sweet, wobbly thing,” Ana squeaked, and began taking another video.

The cow was licking and nudging her baby, with such attention that it suggested the calf was the only sweet thing on the good earth.

Meanwhile, Leslie was giving Ari and Crowley an heroic crash-course in bovine husbandry.

“Do you plan on separating them or letting her feed the calf?” Leslie was asking.

“Oh, err... well I suppose it depends on how she takes to feeding, doesn’t it?” Ari replied looking, in vain, to Crowley, for help. “Do you suppose that we should get some formula so she can sleep through the night? Hardly seems fair that she should have to do _all_ the feeds...”

“I think we could probably just use regular milk,rather than formula, couldn’t we?” Crowley replied thoughtfully. “I mean that’s what regular milk is for...right? Or... is there such a thing as a cow wet-nurse?”

Leslie massaged his temples.

Ana decided it would be cruel to film this conversation and post it to YouTube. Filming it for _Newt_ to watch later though? _That_ was practically a marital obligation!

“Okay... so... she’ll be fine. She’s a cow,” Leslie began. “Actually, you know what? I’ll drop by later with some books.”

“Oh, excellent!” Ari replied, happily. “Thank you, dear boy. And, if these are the titles you professionally recommend, I might order copies for the library, too. Now, how many post-natal appointments should we book for our cow, and how often should we get...I suppose they’d be called ‘ _well-calf’ appointments_? And, do they require separate appointments? Or...”

Leslie took a deep breath. “I will write it all down for you,I promise!” He then left, pretty quickly.

The calf figured out the udder.

“Well, that was an exciting afternoon,” Crowley exclaimed. “Baby cow! Look at that! And, I barely even desperately wanted a cigarette! Go me! Still, awfully glad I’ve not given up whisky. Drinks all around I think, it’s traditional.”

“I’m working!” Ana replied appalled, videoing the calf feeding. “I’m supervising neonatal colostrum intake. Very important. I _will_ bill you for it.”

“That does sound sort of real, actually,” Crowley mused. “How about you, Angel?”

“No thank you, my dear.”

“Right. Just me and the cow, then. I reckon she deserves a double.”

Ari scowled.

“Oh, don’t scowl, Angel,” Crowley whined. “It’s far too cute. There’s already a baby cow to contend with. Or is it a baby bull? How does one tell?”

“The usual way,” Ana called. “It’s a girl.”

Said girl paused her meal, and her mother resumed grooming her, gently.

“Oh, she loves her so much, look!” Ari whisperedsoftly. He turned, wide-eyed, to Crowley. “You bought me a cow!”

Crowley smiled. “I did. In fact, _THE_ cow. In fact, _two_ THE cows, apparently.”

“Because you love me.”

“Yes. I do,” Crowley replied firmly, seeking out Ari’s blue eyes, allowing himself no fear. “I know it might be hard to trust it, because the people who _should_ have loved you, _didn’t_. But, that’s okay, because you CAN trust it and I can...”

“I love you too.”

Crowley stared. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Crowley’s heart spun, and his head overflowed. He never quite managed to do these things typically.

“Yes!” Ari conformed. “In fact, if you are amenable, I would like to kiss you, a bit.”

Crowley nodded. “Okay. Ngk. Yes. Good. Umm... can you, possibly get Ana to stop filming first, possibly?”

Ari seemed to consider. “Maybe a visual record might come in handy. For evaluation purposes. Future improvement.”

  
“ Well, I mean, yes! Improvement is good! Who doesn’t like improvement?”

Honestly though, given the events of the day- with its pain and tears, its fear and doubt, its surprise and its joy and all things considered....it was actually a pretty wonderful kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so humbled, lovely readers, by all your kind comments and kudos I know I have fallen dreadfully behind in replying... real life has been a little harsh to me the last few days (although, not nearly so harsh as others among us have had to bear).
> 
> I will get to each comment, and I hope you will forgive the delay, and that this second last chapter offers some entertainment...
> 
> Take care, and thank you.


	18. Chapter 18

It was the first Saturday in May, and the ceremonial opening of Tadfield Village Library was a few short hours away.

Ari had left already, to fuss over the last minute details. Crowley had come by Jasmine Cottage to send him off, and wish him luck. And assure him that he did indeed look professional enough without a bow tie.

“But Councilor Tracy said that there would be a photographer,” Ari had fretted, unhappily. 

“Then, here, you’ll have this,” Crowleyhad replied, gently, handing him a small cardboard box. Inside was a small flower buttonhole, that Crowley himself had made, out of some early cornflowers he’d badgered out of his conservatory plants. “Instant style.”

Ari had smiled at the flowers for a long time. “That’s perfect. Thank you,” and Crowley had sent him off, with a kiss.

Alas, this had left Crowley with little to do but fold himself into increasingly complex shapes on Jasmine cottage furniture and drum his fingers.

“Stop it!” Ana implored, trying to eat her toast. “You are driving me spare! What’s the matter?”

“I’m not _doing_ anything,” Crowley moaned.

“There’s nothing to do!”

“But, there _could_ be!” Crowley insisted. “I could be bribing the journalist, padding the crowd with supporters, and bussing in bookish school-children from across the country. And instead, I’m just _sitting_ here. _Letting_ this happen.”

“Yes you are,” Newt replied, serenely, sipping tea. “I’m proud of you.”

Crowley hissed through his teeth.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ana soothed. “It’s a library opening. It can’t really go too far wrong, can it?”

“Something could catch fire,” Crowley pointed out.

“I’m sure there are fire extinguishers.” Ana replied.

“Roof could leak?” 

Newt glanced out the window. “Not raining. Beautiful day.”

“The encyclopedias could have pornographic misprints?”

“That would only add character to the event. Could be a positive.”

Crowley glared. “Well, you two are just nauseatingly optimistic today, aren’t you?”

Newt finished his tea. “I know what will cheer you up. Let’s walk up to your place. Have a game of ‘quote-unquote-football’.”

Quote-unquote-football was played with a large inflatable beach-ball, and, on the morning in question, with three adult humans on one side, and one hyperactive three-month-old calf on the other.

The calf, named Zaira after a new dawn, easily won, gamboling in circles around her laughing human opponents, pushing and tossing her beloved ball with her head. 

“She’s a cracker, this one,” Crowley said, watching her affectionately. “Look at her go! I’m sure she thinks she’s actually a puppy.”

“Wonder if it will still be cute when she weighs twelve hundred pounds,” Newt replied. He was just a very little bit winded, and Crowley, as well as Ana, were listening out of habit for any concerning wheeze or whistling. “And you can both stop doing that, I’m fine.”

“Course you are,” Ana said taking his hand affectionately and _definitely not_ checking his pulse at the same time.

Her victory lap completed, Zaira stopped by for a tousling pat from Crowley, before trotting over to her calmly observing mother, Selene, for a snack.

Ana inspected the beach-ball for damage. “She loves this, doesn’t she?” Then she eyed Crowley. “How many identical spares to you have stored away, just in case?”

“None,” Crowley replied, aloofly.

“Newt, how many does he have?”

“Fifteen.”

Crowley’s phone started to buzz and for a few brief seconds he was grateful to be spared the teasing. 

It was B.

Could still be fine, he thought.

But it wasn’t.

“Anthony? Is everything all right?” Ana asked, as he ended the call.

Crowley took a deep breath and sought Newt’s eyes. This was his news too. “Okay. The... plea bargains, I suppose they are called, the _deals_. They’re almost done, and B wanted us to have a heads-up. No trials, all round. About eight years for Elijah, sixteen months for Amber, and Enoch Cryer has been forced to resign. No charges for him, though.”

“Oh,” it was Ana who answered. “I’m not sure quite what I was expecting, but that’s... less.”

Crowley sighed. “It’s a matter of what they can prove, apparently. Somewhat ironically, if Bannerman hadn’t been killed, there would have probably been more evidence.” He looked at Newt, who had his arms folded across his chest. “Are you alright?”

Newt nodded slowly. “Yeah, I am, I think. I mean, well... you know. It’s good that there won’t be any trials, I think. Ari would have struggled...”

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, his voice husky. “That’s true. That part is good.”

Zaira came back over and nudged his leg, and Crowley reached down to absently stroke her inquiring nose. 

“We should probably go,” Ana offered, softly. “We don’t want to be late.”

Crowley nodded. “Right. Yes. Bentley? Let’s go in style.”

The ceremonial part of the library opening was to occur on the village hall steps. Ari and Madam Tracy were already posing for photographs when they arrived, and a small crowd of villagers were assembled. 

Ari looked nervous, so Crowley waved cheerfully, and sacrificed his sunglasses, so he could smile more reassuringly from a distance. Ari offered a small nod and a quick furtive wave in return before returning to awkward posing.

Crowley’s heart did strange fluttering things.

A speech followed, and Tracy had the good grace, and political nous, to keep it short. And she even managed to only glance furtively in Crowley’s direction a few times, while discussing the anonymous donation, which started the whole thing.

After that, things moved inside.

The library was off the main hall, and of a similar area to it, although rather more elongated in shape. Ari described each carefully curated collection, in an _almost_ audible voice, to the assembled crowd and rewarded with polite applause. So far so good.

The three library computers actually elicited some questions, the prospect of which seemed to rather alarm Ari. 

  
It took most of Crowley’s self-discipline not to dive in and rescue him. But he held off, and Ari managed nicely on his own, ably demonstrating the catalogue, and delighting Mr Tyler with the news that he would both be able to email his daughter AND read the Times online in one handy location!

The children’s section was at the very back of the library, and thus last on the tour. Fortuitously, as it happened, because it was also the loveliest part. 

Light from sunny windows illuminated colorful rugs, chairs and cushions. The low shelves were packed with colourful picture-books on all topics.From higher shelves, some very familiar looking stuffed animals brightened the area, including a unicorn llama, a pair of twin penguins and a goggle-eyed flamingo. The one wall not covered with book shelves and book buckets displayed a nursery rhyme mural, complete with a violin- playing cat, who strongly resembled Pippin, and a moon-jumping cow, the very image of Selene.

Councilor Tracey took over again, at this point, to read a storybook to the younger children for the cameras, leaving Ari free to sidle over to them.

“Oh, well done, you were marvelous!” Newt whispered, encouragingly. 

Ari’s smile was little unsure. He was, no doubt, fretting over little stammers and fumbles that everyone else present had already forgotten. “So, what do you all think of the place?”

“It’s wonderful,” Ana said. “You’ve done really well.”

Ari smiled. “I just hope I’ve done the anonymous benefactor proud.”

“Oh well there’s no pleasing rich people,” Crowley mused. “But _I_ love it. Wish I’d donated the money myself, really.”

“I have something for all of you!” Ari said brightening. He handed Tadfield Village Library cards #001, #002, and #003 to Crowley, Newt, and Ana. “It pays to have friends in high places, you see.”

“Nifty!” Newt replied, warmly. “I’m going to look for a book to borrow immediately.” 

He turned towards the catalogue computers, before, a moment later, being redirected by a lightening-fast Ana to the non-fiction section. “Let’s just browse.”

Councilor Tracy finished with her storybook and began chatting to the journalist and photographer, while Ari buzzed around, ensuring that every child in attendance, and most of the adults too, left with a book that piqued their interest.

Crowley, leaning against a wall, recovered his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and watched Ari over the top edge of a randomly selected paperback.

He looked... happy.

At long last, the event ended, and Ari turned the bolt behind the last library patron, leaving just himself and Crowley, alone in the space.

“Did you want to borrow that book, my dear?” Ari asked. “You’ve been engrossed with it for hours, and well, you are the library’s number #1 customer, after all! Says so right on your card.”

Crowley glanced at the front of the book he had not actually read a word of. It was a book of Tennyson poems, apparently. “Umm, yeah. I would.” 

Ari scanned it for him and closed off the computer.

“Shall we go to dinner?” Crowley asked, as Ari handed him the book.

“I’d like that, thank you,” Ari replied. “Are you all right, my dear? You seem a little sad.”

Crowley sighed. “It’s not you. I’m happy for you, and I’m proud. And... we shouldn’t talk about it today.”

“B called you.” Ari guessed. “Dana called me.”

Crowley nodded. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Ari said. “There wasn’t a length of time that was going to make me feel better.”

“But, you aren’t angry? How can you not be angry?” Crowley replied just not understanding.

“Dana said she had sorted it so we are safe,” Ari answered. “She knows things, things that will come out, if they come for us. Sort of mutually assured destruction? That’s what I wanted most. _Needed_. I needed us all to be safe. But, are you alright? You feel angry?”

Crowley hissed. “Not on my own behalf. I feel a bit bad for Amber, in a way, as fucked up as that is.Bannerman might have a studio contract with my nightmares, but he’s dead, and as punished as he’s ever going to get. The other two, you know it’s funny, I wouldn’t know them if I passed them in the street. But... I hate them, like I didn’t know it was possible to hate. Ari, I love you, and what happened to you... well... _nothing_ was going to be enough, was it? But it still _isn’t enough_. I don’t... I’m angry, yes, I’m _furious,_ and I don’t know what to do!”

Ari brushed his cheek affectionately. “Well, like you said, we go to dinner. That’s something to do.”

“But that’s my point, Angel. I want to take you somewhere _really lovely_ for dinner. Because this is your day, and you’ve triumphed. And because it would be a lovely place, you’ll want to wear a bow-tie. And, you won’t be able to. And you’ll fret. Even just a little. And, I want to burn the pair of them alive, for even _just that one thing,_ on _just this one_ day _.”_

“But, I have my cornflowers, my dear,” Ari answered, gently. “They’ve held up so beautifully to the day. They still look quite fresh.”

Crowley sniffed. “Those cornflowers wouldn’t dare wilt. They _know_ better.”

“And, I’ll have your company, my dear. We will have dinner, and some wine, and I’ll nervously dissect everything I did and said, and you’ll reassure me. Then, I’ll make you share my dessert, and we will kiss, and maybe something more, if we can each handle it today. We live, and we live well. That’s what we do.”

Crowley pulled him into a hug. “You are too good for me, you know that?”

Ari hrumphed. “Utter nonsense, and you are to stop talking that way about my lovely Crowley, immediately.”

Crowley relented. “Speaking of too good, Zaira kicked our collective arses at quote-unquote-football today. I’m sure it would have made all the difference, if _you_ were there, though.”

Ari laughed. “Oh well, _naturally!”_

“She’s a real talent,” Crowley continued. “Enough so that it’s started to bother me that woman footballers are underpaid. It’s different when it’s your kid, you know?”

“It is.”

As they left library, Crowley’s hand found its way to the small of Ari’s back.

Ari smiled. “Oh! Do we get to go to dinner in the Bentley? I’ve never been in the Bentley!”

Crowley smiled, and opened the door for him “Oh my word, you haven’t, have you? _That_ we must rectify, immediately.”

“Where are we going anyway?” Ari asked as Crowley closed that door and headed around the Bentley to the driver’s seat.

“Where would you like to go?” Crowley called. “You pick.”

“Well, it would have to be somewhere we wouldn’t need a reservation...” Ari fretted.

Crowley smiled as he sat down and closed his door. “Oh, I don’t know... let’s just try our luck. Name the place.”

Crowley wasn’t worried.  


He’d arranged for a table to be held at every restaurant in Oxfordshire likely to capture Ari’s interest, while he’d been busy _not_ bussing in schoolchildren.

It wasn’t as if he could leave _everything_ to fate, now, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! You are all a pleasure to post for!


End file.
